


Count Up Your Bones

by ChuckHedge



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Spoilers up to chapter 391, Succession Contest Arc (Hunter X Hunter), The 1st sunrise on the 1st day of peace after 100 years of war, Torture, Until then: chaos, the black whale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckHedge/pseuds/ChuckHedge
Summary: The past hangs heavy on the heart, a millstone tethered by the hands of ghosts. The Black Whale is no place to carry such a burden. One storm, one slip and the lifeline snaps. Man overboard.Kurapika sinks under the roiling black, 128 voices calling him home.But no chain is unbreakable. And sometimes, the hand held out to you in the dark is the last one you’d ever expect to pull you out. Sometimes, it’s the only one that can.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 72
Kudos: 208





	1. Luca

The 5th deck was an ideal place to hide. It was easy to lose yourself in the crush of bodies, the lowest ranked citizens in Kakin’s hierarchy crammed into the lowest deck, fit tight enough to choke. The humidity of early August offered no favors, sweat and discomfort souring the air.

It was achingly familiar, that quiet desperation. Familiar in the twitch of fingers, blackened by dirt. The anxious shuffle of feet, the flash of dull eyes. Naked in wan faces and cracked lips.

The 5th deck was the last refuge for the poor and the desperate, the promise of land and opportunity on the new continent a siren’s song. A song, Kuroro knew, that beckoned to a grave amongst the waves.

The voices of the crowd meld into the background of his thoughts, a murmur easily ignored. Kuroro broke off from the crowd, measured steps taking him through the residential corridors. They had commandeered a room shortly after departure, and despite the few days that have passed since then, the degradation of the 5th deck was well underway. The lack of care in both the construction and maintenance of the lowest deck was plain. Plasterboard crumbled under the weight ofhumid air, and it was not uncommon to see roaches scurry across the bare floors to disappear into the cracks in the walls. The communal bathrooms were quick to rust and stain and stench, while trashcans were overfilled, litter spilling out onto dirty, sticky floors.

It was so much like Meteor City it was almost nostalgic. The way the Mafia preyed upon the people, the fights, the drugs, the prostitution; the hollow and empty eyes that so exquisitely expressed all the different ways a person could starve.

Eyes denied the kindness of compassion, the safety of family, the mercy of trust. And in their absence the apathy, the listlessness.

There were few ways to escape Meteor City. For most, it was sell yourself to the Mafia or rot along with the trash. For Kuroro, it was knee deep in blood, unbroken and uncompromising. It was violence, battering against closed borders of neighbors who refused to accept people that did not exist. And so they were killed by Phantoms, and the Troupe was forged in gunfire.

As he approached the room he’d left his Spiders in, Kuroro noticed something odd about the door. The hinges were broken and the frame was splintered. The door itself was propped in its frame, a poor imitation. Despite the state of the door, he could sense Shizuku and Bonolenov on the other side, neither’s aura displaying any signs of distress. He could also sense one other aura, weak and inexperienced. Fear and anxiety were honest in their nen, in front of their enemies. It was obvious they didn’t know so much as the basics.

Kuroro came to stand before the door and maneuvered it open, picking it slightly off the ground to turn it inward. He stepped inside and closed the door as well as he could, taking in the scene before him.

Bonolenov sat on one of the beds, carefully winding a bandage around his uncovered right arm, the holes that turned him into a human instrument temporarily visible. In the far left corner of the room was a cheaply made desk and chair set. The metal chair was pulled out and away, a man bound and gagged in it. Shizuku stood in front of the man, Blinky held aloft threateningly.

Kuroro stood at the front of the room, one eyebrow raised. “Did something happen?”

Shizuku turned her gaze to Kuroro, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Someone’s playing a game.”

Kuroro’s nen fluctuated, dangerous. “Hisoka?” He asked, voice low and hard. The man whimpered behind the gag, shoulders hunching against his bounds in an effort to make himself look smaller.

Bonolenov shrugged his shoulders and stood, heaving a sigh as he finished wrapping his arm. “We don’t know for sure yet. We were attacked a little bit after you left the room with Phinks. There were two others”

“Blinky cleaned up the mess,” Shizuku added. She waved Blinky around, and the man cowered away from her, though she paid him no attention. Nobody did.

Bonolenov brought his boxing gloves together roughly, fist to fist. “They were cocky, even though it was obvious they just learned nen. I don’t think they were expecting us to put up a fight.”

Shizuku nodded, blinking large dark eyes behind her glasses. “They didn’t know we were Spiders,” she looked at Kuroro curiously. “Say Danchou, do we look like easy marks to you?”

Kuroro felt his lips curl up slightly, unbidden and fond. They did. Especially as an odd couple. But it was part of what made them such good thieves, and excellent Spiders. Despite being one of his most observant and logical spiders, Shizuku gave off the impression of an airhead, and coupled with her fits of short term memory loss, she shed suspicion like water off of a duck’s back. As for Bonolenov, people tended to write him off as an eccentric mummy enthusiast, having no clue as to the power that lies under his bandages, unfamiliar with the culture of his once mighty tribe. Only an experienced nen user could see them for what they were.

“Oh, that’s right!” Shizuku blurted suddenly, saving Kuroro from answering.“What did Phinks want to talk to you about?”

Kuroro hummed. “Let’s leave that for now. First tell me what you’ve gotten out of our guest,” he walked over to Shizuku, hands digging into the pockets of his heavy jacket. He fished out a pair of black leather gloves and pulled them over his hands, black painted nails hidden by the material.

Shizuku frowned. “I’m no Feitan, so I haven’t gotten much so far. Only that they were playing some kind of game, and that their level increases when they kill someone.”

Kuroro nodded thoughtfully. “A murder game, is it?” He bent down and retrieved a knife from where it was hidden in his boot. He turned it as if to examine it, the blade gleaming wickedly in the light. All the while he kept his eyes on the bound man, watched his pupils shrink in fear, the quake of his shoulders. “I think I’ll have a chat with him.”

Closing the distance between them, Kuroro pulled the makeshift gag from the man’s mouth, a length of Bonolenov’s old bandages, soaked through with saliva. As soon as the gag was out of the man’s mouth, the man sobbed audibly, spittle and blood running down his chin. “Please, I already told them! I don’t know anything about this Hisoka pers—“ Kuroro grabbed the man’s jaw roughly, forcing his mouth unnaturally wide. With eyes like cold mercury, he used a thumb to pull back the man’s upper lip, exposing his teeth. Sensing danger, the man struggled against him, tried to free his head from his grip, tried to close his mouth, but Kuroro held him firm with ease. He tapped the tip of his knife against a tooth, once, twice, felt the man give a full body shiver; and then, without a touch of mercy, he dug it into the man’s gums. The man screamed, voice muffled by Kuroro’s gloved hand halfway in his mouth. From the room next door, Kuroro heard them turn up the volume of their television in lieu of actually checking on the welfare of their neighbor. Probably assumed it was Cha-R business and weren’t willing to stick their necks out. Meteor City indeed.

He carved out a tooth, let it fall to the man’s tongue and then forced his jaw shut. With a firm grip, he forced the mans chin to point at the ceiling, keeping it there until the man was forced to swallow or choke on his own blood. Kuroro leaned down, lips close to the man’s ear. “Tell me who sent you. Was it Hisoka?” The name was acid on his tongue, a poison that corroded the blood, made it black like the gore leaking out of Shalnark’s mouth, body strung up on a swing, picture immortalized on the internet no matter how many times the authorities tried to take it down. Black like the shadow cast across Kortopi’s face, dismembered head placed artfully at Shalnark’s feet. Hisoka always did like to put on a show.

He pulled his hands away, and the man’s head fell forward, coughing desperately. “It wasn’t Hisoka! I don’t even know who he is! Please, I swear it!”

Kuroro watched blood flow down his chin, eyes unblinking. “No? Who was it than?”

The man cast his gaze down and shook his head.Kuroro sighed deeply. How tedious. Torture was Feitan’s forte, but he was unwilling to let slip a possible lead. He had been robbed of Hisoka’s death once. He would not suffer it twice. 

It took three more teeth, two fingers, and the slow flaying of half a foot to get the information he wanted.

Morena Prudo of the Heil-Ly family, and her nen transference ability on the condition of slaughter. One point for a regular person, ten points for a nen user, and fifty points for a prince, because she’d been dragged into a war of succession, and the Black Whale was a glorified killing field.

He was, to Kuroro’s disappointment, in no way affiliated to Hisoka. Still, he had gotten some useful information.

As Shizuku cleaned up the mess he had made, Kuroro peeled his ruined gloves off and considered the new information in relation to his meeting with Phinks. At the beginning of the Black Whale’s voyage, Kuroro had told all his Spiders to do as they please so long as they brought him Hisoka’s head. Interestingly enough, Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga used the opportunity to forge an alliance with the Cha-R family after a Heil-Ly assassin tried to make a pawn of them. The agreement gave them access to the Cha-R’s surveillance system of the 5th deck, and extra pairs of eyes on the lookout for Hisoka. In return, the Spiders would hunt down the Heil-Ly assassin and deal with Morena Prudo.

His Spiders were exercising restraint for the moment, content with following the path of least resistance. Boats can sink so easily, after all. 

The most useful piece of information they got out of the Cha-R was about the target of the Heil-Ly assassin’s excursion into Cha-R territory. A door, behind which there was a direct access way to the upper decks. A hidden bypass of the thick bulkhead between the 2nd and 3rd decks. In fact, all three of the mafia families had one. Which of course begged the question of why the Heil-Ly assassin would go through the trouble to access the Cha-R’s.

The answer was obvious. The headquarters of the Heil-Ly family were empty, its members had taken to the killing fields. Morena Prudo was in hiding, the trust between her and her royal sponsor questionable. And with a few flicks of a knife, Kuroro knew exactly where she was hiding.

Kuroro brought a closed fist to his cheek, index finger pointed up, considering. Things were getting interesting, complicated. The Heil-Ly Boss was far from a priority, but engendering indiscriminate carnage amongst her followers could sow the seeds of the Black Whale’s destruction. If that happened, it would all be for naught. They were simply too far from land. And the ocean had mercy for no one.

“Shizuku. Bonolenov. We’re moving out.” They both sprung into action at his words, gathering what few belongings they elected to bring on their hunt. Kuroro did the same, and when they all stood ready, Shizuku turned to him with curious eyes.

“Where to, Danchou?”

“It’s time to start making our way up. The 3rd deck should do for now. Besides,” Kuroro’s lips tilted up the slightest bit. “I have to go see about a girl.”

* * *

The hands of fatigue pushed heavy on Kurapika’s shoulders, the fingers of stress pressed against his eyes.

There was one communal bathroom in the servant’s quarters of room 1014, and Kurapika was thankful for the temporary privacy it afforded him. He bent before the sink, the splash of cold water against his face doing little to ward off the weariness in his bones.

With water dripping down his face, he looked into the mirror. In the harsh fluorescent light, his reflection was unkind in its honesty, face pale and eyes bruised. Letting out a breath, Kurapika closed his eyes and allowed himself to lean forward, forehead flush against the cool glass. The situation was untenable. It had been little more than a week since the Black Whale’s departure. At the rate he was going, would he be able to ensure Woble’s safety for the entire two month voyage? He knew something had to change, but he had little recourse. He was surrounded by enemies and isolated from his allies, his team spread out amongst the princes, unable to open a line of communication with any of them without being compromised.

Letting out one more breath, Kurapika opened his eyes and pulled away. He reached for a hand towel and went about drying his face, gaze locked on his reflection. How strange it was. Beyond the black contacts and foreign suit, he was unfamiliar.Kurapika frowned, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He was just tired.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, Shimano’s voice slightly muffled from the other side. “Kurapika, there’s somebody outside to see you.”

Kurapika’s pulse fluttered with suspicion. The second round of nen lessons were not due to start for another two hours. “Thank you Shimano, I’ll be out shortly.”

His mind raced as he left the servant’s quarters, moving through the living area on quick feet. Sakata, Hashito, and Slakka were stationed at the entrance to the master bedroom near the back of the suite, none of them seeming concerned over Kurapika’s visitor. Babimyna raised an eyebrow at him as he passed by, the soldier in his usual position near the north wall where he could keep his eyes on everyone.

When he made it to the door, his heartbeat steadied as he recognized Melody through the viewer. Bill was hovering near the entrance, worry pulling at his lips, so Kurapika offered him a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to worry about Bill, she’s a friend.”

Bill looked at him a moment, the frown never leaving his face. “Just be careful,” he flashed his eyes discreetly in the direction of Babimyna and his ever watchful gaze. “Between Mr. Spy here and that Furykov, I’d say we already have more than our fair share of the 1st prince’s attention,” he said, voice quiet. “I know that you have personal matters to attend to, but try not to be too interesting, yeah? If they figure you out—”

“That won’t be a problem,” Kurapika cut in, words firm, voice soft. “While I do have an objective apart from the succession war, trust that I would do nothing to jeopardize the safety of Prince Woble.”

Bill sighed. “I know you wouldn’t, that’s not what I meant,” he looked at Kurapika, lips pressed together until pale with the shade of guilt. “Just keep in mind that at this point, Woble’s safety is as good as shackled to your own. Think about that the next time you do something reckless.”

Kurapika was struck speechless, the words a slap in the face as he watched Bill disappear down the hall. Perhaps he should have expected it after his carelessness during the Stealth Dolphin fiasco. He had been laid out for nine hours, but Bill didn’t know the half of it and still called him out.

Refocusing his attention, Kurapika opened the door and motioned for Melody to slip inside, closing the door behind her. One look at her face and trepidation bloomed bright and heavy in his chest. He gestured to her to linger near the door, Babimyna’s gaze burning into his back.

“I received a summons from 4th Prince Tserriednich,” Melody said in her soft, quiet voice.

Kurapika almost startled, but caught himself. “To what end?”

“If his messenger is to be believed, he was quite taken by my flute performance at the last banquet. He’s requested an encore in his quarters.”

Kurapika brought up a hand to rest fingers on his chin, thoughtful. “A Field in Spring?”

Melody nodded. “He’s curious about my nen. What are your orders?”

Kurapika paused, considering. This could be their first opportunity to conduct reconnaissance on the 4th prince. So far they knew nothing about his nen beast or guard configuration. Not for the first time, Kurapika dearly wished that bodyguards were allowed to accompany their princes into the banquet hall. If that were the case, he would have had eyes on all the nen beasts on day one, and he would never have had cause to waste so many years of his life so needlessly in his attempt to collect information with Stealth Dolphin. Unfortunately, the Sunday banquets were a neutral zone, and bodyguards were only permitted to provide an escort to and from, and on a timetable no less, eliminating the possibility of encountering another prince in transit. All part of the cloak and dagger nature of the succession war.

Still, the opportunity gave him pause. Kurapika had been briefed on the nature of the 4th prince by Mizaistrom shortly after he agreed to join the Zodiacs. Before that, he had seen the video uploaded to the dark net. Watched it over and over again, desperate for any clue as to who and where. Besides the Scarlet Eyes, besides… _the head_ …just the thought of it caused his breath to falter. It stilled his heart inside his chest and made of it a hollow grave. And the pain of it…unceasing. If he thought about _the head_ too long, he was liable to completely lose it, and he couldn’t afford to do that, not here, not now.

His heart could keep no secrets from Melody, her face twisting on sympathy as he gazed at her without truly seeing, his eyes ablaze under his contacts. He took a breath. In. Out. And once more.

In any case, the eyes were far from Tserriednich’s only trophies. He was a predator of the most sick and twisted sort, a flesh collector of the highest order…the thought of a nen beast born from such a person. Kurapika’s original plan had been to get the man alone, to compel his cooperation in the repatriation of his clan’s eyes via Judgement Chain. Now he risked the intervention and reprisal of a nen beast.

He needed more information, and at last he had Tserriednich eyeing bait on the hook. But with what he knew of him, he’d want it raw and bleeding. He wavered at casting the line.

“I can do it,” Melody’s careful voice broke him out of his thoughts. “It’s what you hired me for, after all.”

Kurapika met her gaze, her eyes steady but not without fear. “Are you sure?”

Melody nodded. “I can do it, let me help you. I wasn’t—“ her expression broke, sorrow an anchor weighing at the downturn of her lips, eyes filling with unshed tears. “Kacho is dead. I wasn’t able to help her.”

That was news to Kurapika. As bodyguard to the least ranked queen, he was cut out of the communication channels. He only knew about Momoze because Oito witnessed it with her own two eyes, in a matter of speaking. He had heard of no other deaths since then, and though he could speculate about Sale-Sale, his bodyguard abruptly disappearing from nen class, he couldn’t be sure.

“I had hoped there would be no more deaths,” Kurapika said quietly, his hands fisting at his sides. Already two of the youngest princes had perished by the will of their elder siblings. “Cowards.”

Melody shook her head. “It wasn’t another prince. She escaped.”

At Kurapika’s questioning look, she lowered her voice and explained how she had helped engineer an escape for her charge and her twin with the help of another hunter. One twin came back, clinging to a nen beast in the guise of the other, sobbing about how they had been beset upon by a thousand hands, reaching for them with dark malice.

Kurapika felt cold. “A curse? Do you know what triggered it.”

Melody’s eyes hardened. “No, but I mean to find out,” she took a breath, determination shining from her eyes. “I’m going to find out who, or what killed her.”

Kurapika looked at her. “Melody,” he said softly. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

She looked down and said nothing, misery in every line of her body. He wanted to comfort her, but she looked like she might fall apart if he did. Neither of them could afford that, not now, not when they were being circled by sharks waiting to frenzy at the first scent of blood.

Melody took a deep breath. “I should be on my way. It won’t do to keep the prince waiting any longer.”

Kurapika frowned, but nodded. “Be careful. Any information about his nen beast would be useful, but remember; my goal is to get as close to him as possible, preferably alone.”

He saw her off, the sound of the door closing behind her ominous when it never was before.

The walk back to the living area had his mind reeling. That curse…was it tied to the succession war or the Black Whale itself? There was so much he didn’t know. He had never considered…if things had gone a bit differently at the start, that could have been Woble. Until they knew more, several contingency plans were off the table.

“Kurapika, what was that about?” Sakata asked. “Your friend looked troubled,” he crossed his arms, gaze suspicious under lowered eyebrows. His question got everyone’s attention, and five pairs of eyes centered on Kurapika.

“Prince Kacho is dead.”

There was silence all around. Sakata shared a look with Hashito. “I see. What will your Hunter friend do now?”

Bill perked up at that. “Will she come here?” Kurapika could plainly see the unspoken words play across his face, the “maybe you’d take a gods damn break if another Hunter were here”.

Kurapika shook his head, and watched Bill’s face fall in disappointment. “She has her own business to attend to.”

Babimyna gave him an appraising look, and Kurapika met his gaze. Their eyes held, until finally Babimyna shrugged. He said nothing, just crossed his arms and closed his eyes, content to wait for the next round of nen lessons to begin.

There was still an hour until the second wave of students were supposed to show, and every second that passed was another thread of anxiety weaving its way around Kurapika’s heart. Melody was probably meeting Tserriednich right now. One more item to add to his worry list. Then there was the curse, which had the capacity to upend the house of cards Kurapika had painstakingly constructed, its foundation as shaky as the alliances he’d formed, conditional on the idea that more than one could live. Depending on the nature of the curse…he didn’t even want to consider it. Add to that nen beasts with unknown powers. The various allegiances and goals. The fact that they were venturing into uncharted waters only to disembark on uncharted lands, and the myriad dangers that come with sailing into the unknown. His business with Tserriednich, and with the Zodiacs. Pariston’s Hunters and Beyond. And of course, eventually, the Dark Continent, and whatever fresh hell awaited them there.

Pain exploded in his temple, and Kurapika shook his head, realizing too late he had activated his eyes under the weight of his worries. He felt even more tired than before.

Kurapika fought off the frown pulling at his lips. He needed to focus on what he could accomplish right now. That was his only path forward. He couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by the waves ahead. He’d get caught in the undertow and drown.

Ignoring his aching eyes, he made his way into the master bedroom, intent on distracting himself until the second round of nen students made their appearance. Inside, Oito was sitting in a chair next to Woble’s crib, calling forth her aura into her hands and practicing nen. In her crib, Woble was fast asleep.

Oito offered him a tired smile as he approached them, coming to a stop in front of Woble’s crib. Something about watching the little prince sleep calmed him, and Kurapika managed a tired smile back.

“Your nen’s coming along,” Kurapika noted. Her aura was the slightest bit more dense than the last time he’d seen her practice.

Oito nodded. “I know my progress is slow, but I want to do whatever I can to help Woble. That reminds me,” she dropped her hands and looked at Kurapika, her dark eyes nervous. “I was thinking…” she trailed off.

“What is it?” Kurapika encouraged, after a few too many seconds of silence.

“Will learning nen really be enough?” Oito looked at her hands. “I want to be strong for Woble. But the reality is, I have grown weak. Ever since Nasubi came into my life and swept me away, a real life fairy tale unfolding just for me. It changed my world, made it into something soft. It was so easy to get lost in it. I used to be stronger. To be weak meant death in Meteor City. We all had to fight to live. No one leaves Meteor City with clean hands, and mine are no exception. But now,” she looked at her hands, pale, soft and unmarred. The hands of a queen. “I am weak. I’ve forgotten what it means to be strong. I can’t protect her.” Her hands fisted and shook, shook with a helplessness Kurapika was intimately familiar with.

He regarded her for a moment silently, then dropped to one knee in front of her. “Your Majesty,” he took her shaking hands in his own. He looked up and caught her gaze, caught the quiet misery and anger. “Strength comes in many forms. Just like nen. Keep going, and you might surprise yourself by what you can do,” he squeezed her hands gently. “You protect Woble in all the ways that you can. Let me worry about the rest,” he let go of her hands and stood up, tried for a reassuring smile.

Oito was silent for a moment, eyes taking in the whole of Kurapika, lingering on the bags under his tired eyes, his face, pale from exhaustion and stress. “Kurapika,” she said, not unkindly. “If I allowed you to burden yourself with anything more, we could use you in place of the anchor. Whatever weight I can take, even if only a little, I would take gladly.”

Kurapika was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth, but then paused, shutting it. When did it get so quiet? He couldn’t hear the others in the next room. His entire body went on high alert, and he signaled silence to Oito when she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong. Woble woke up suddenly, her cries piercing through the quiet. Oito picked her up, held her against her chest protectively.

Too late he realized they weren’t alone in the room. One man and one woman, soldier types by the look of them. He positioned himself in front of the mother and child and drew his gun. But something was wrong. His body was sluggish, more than tiredness or exhaustion could account for. He breathed and cursed. There was something in the air. Some kind of nen. He fired at the man, but he shrugged off the bullets easily, so Kurapika holstered the weapon and raised his chain hand threateningly. The woman darted around, trying to get at Woble, so Kurapika herded them behind himself into a corner. They would not get at Woble without getting through him first.

He loosed the dowsing chain, sending it careening at the woman, forcing her to jump back. His vision spun and he knew he was in trouble. Disoriented, he loosed dowsing chain again in a wide arc in front of him, and was glad when it connected with the man, throwing him into the wall, plaster crumbling down as he fell to the floor. The woman drew a knife, and Kurapika blinked, trying to bring a measure of focus back to himself. The man stood up.

The two of them eyed him, trying to find an opening in his guard. His chains agitated around him like snakes, keeping them from closing the distance. He was kept on the defensive. The moment he moved to properly engage them would be the moment they went for Woble.

“You have to hurry,” the man told the woman. “My nen will run its course soon. The ones we didn’t kill will wake up, and you’ll lose your chance.”

Whatever the woman said in response, Kurapika didn’t hear. It felt like his head was underwater, water rushing through his ears. He tried to activate his Scarlet Eyes, but he couldn’t muster the concentration. His vision blacked out entirely for a moment, and distantly, he heard Babimyna scream his name. Something impacted with his body and he was blown off his feet, pain exploding in his abdomen. He hit the floor hard. Darkness pulled at his mind, and opening his eyes was a herculean effort. The last thing he saw before the nen pulled him under completely was the woman, hand outstretched toward Woble, knife poised at her own throat. And then. Nothing.


	2. These Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kurapika spirals down, Kuroro makes his way up. They meet in the middle.

It had been years since Kurapika had felt so at peace.

The ground was cool against his back, the soft brown earth a comfort to his weary bones. The verdant grass waved above his head, the wind a soft whisper across his face as it tangled in his hair, the scent of wildflowers following in its wake.

The harsh face of the sun couldn’t reach him here, the towering trees of the Lukso forest ever watchful in their stewardship. Light filtered through their boughs, leaving only the gentlest rays to fall upon his face, to dye blond hair golden and catch on the ruby hanging from his ear.

He closed his eyes, and listened to silence. If this was death, he had no complaints. Here, everything fell away. He had no past, he had no future. Time was forgotten. On the soft earth, under the thick boughs; there was only peace.

He had never imagined that death could be so beautiful.

A hand brushed his own, and his eyes flew open. The moon hung heavy in the dark sky above him, stark against the starless expanse. He turned his head, his breath catching in his throat. “Pairo…”

The boy laid beside him, his hand slipping into Kurapika’s own. He felt warm and alive against him. His grip was soft, gentle as he intertwined their fingers, but Kurapika felt nothing but pain.

“Kurapika,” his eyes were the same warm brown he remembered, not the cold scarlet of death, frozen forever in fear and defiance. Not like the head, not like the— “Kurapika,” Pairo said again, and the blond found himself blinking tears out of his eyes, clutching Pairo’s hand desperately.

“I’ll bring you home. I swear it on my life, I’ll bring you home.”

Pairo smiled, his brown eyes mournful. “I know you will.” He sat up, pulling Kurapika along with him until they were both standing. “We’ll go home together.”

“Together,” Kurapika promised, “Or not at all. I won’t rest until I see it done.”

Pairo tugged at his hand, encouraging him to walk alongside him. Moonlight kissed the ground, darting between the gaps in the trees, just enough to light their way through the darkness.

“Kurapika, do you remember our promise?” Pairo’s voice broke through the stillness of the night, his words bringing company to the soft fall of their footsteps.

Kurapika’s heart ached. He remembered all too well, how could he forget in the face of Gon and Killua’s innocent enthusiasm. They were the same age as Pairo and him, back when they made their promise, back before his whole world ended, the words emblazoned on the newspaper inked in blood and carved into flesh. When he looked at Gon and Killua, it was like looking into a mirror to the past. The world they never got to see, all the adventures they never got to go on. Sometimes it made him sick with envy. Sometimes it hurt to even look at them. And the shame of it kept him away. One more reason to keep his distance, on top of all the others.

“Of course I remember our promise. How could I ever forget?”

Pairo was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to welcome you home.”

The words pierced Kurapika, dagger edged and just as deep. “Sorry? Pairo you—“ He stopped. All at once they became clear of the trees. The ground cut off sharply in front of them and plunged into the sea, black and fathomless. The water agitated, the waves battering the cliffside under them.

“This time, I’ll be right there beside you. So let’s go home.”

Pairo pushed him off the cliff. Kurapika gasped, shock turning his body to lead, eyes never leaving Pairo’s face as he plummeted, the warmth in his eyes, the sad, soft line of his lips. The wind whipped his hair violently, and the water gleamed under the light of the moon. He hit the water hard, the force enough to stun him. The water was quick to embrace him, pushed him deep and down, down, down. It was so cold, the water black, impenetrable. He willed his limbs to move, and with every kick, every stroke, he got closer and closer to the surface.

A breath away from the surface, a hand closed around his ankle and pulled. He looked down, and terror took him. His mother looked up at him, the empty sockets of her eyes beseeching. The skin of her face was rotting, peeling away in bloody clumps, exposing bone and teeth. Her mouth gaped unnaturally wide, and blood ran from her empty sockets, quick to contaminate the water. Below her, more shapes started to creep out of the darkness.

Everyone. It was everyone. His family. His clan. He tried to free his ankle from the hand turned manacle, but one hand became two, and then three, then four. They were everywhere. They gripped his legs, his arms, clung to his shirt. He struggled, but they dragged him down, dragged him away from the surface, from the light.

There was a voice like a scream, inhuman and sorrowful. One voice became many. They built up, getting louder and louder. The sound was piercing, an agony for his ears as well as his heart. His head pounded, pressure building as the last of his breath left him. He couldn’t even reach for the surface as he sank, his family holding fast to him, drowning him. He could only watch the light as he fell further and further away from it.

Too soon his body betrayed him. In desperation, it forced him to breathe, water swelling his lungs, his blood turning to ice. He choked and he raged, against the ghosts, against the water. Against his entire life.

His lungs tightened on pain, and darkness took his vision. But before his heart could beat its last, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and a voice whispered into his ear. Pairo’s voice.

“It’s okay, Kurapika. You can stop fighting now. Let’s go home.”

His heart faltered, weak.

“Let’s go home.”

Darkness took him, and his heart stilled.

Except.

It was only for a moment. Because in that darkness, in that unending cold; he was touched by warmth. Fingers pushed the hair away from his face, and in their wake was something like electricity, hot and bright where they brushed against his skin. A hand settled on his chest, right over his heart. Dangerous. Even in the darkness, Kurapika tasted nen, thick in the air and sharp on his tongue.

Under that hand, Kurapika’s heart became as a hummingbird, beating against the cage of his chest. And Kurapika breathed. For some time, that’s all he could do.

A blinding white hit the back of his eyelids, and Kurapika’s eyes shot open.

“Kurapika!” A voice shouted. Leorio stood at the side of his cot, looking like he hadn’t slept for days. “Holy hell, I was starting to think you really got yourself killed this time!”

Kurapika tried to blink the bright spots out of his eyes and when it didn’t work he closed them against the light. “Woble,” his throat felt itchy, and his voice came out hoarse. “What happened to her? Oito I—“ he tried to sit up but Leorio was there suddenly, a hand pushing his shoulders back down to the bed. Kurapika opened his eyes to glare at him, but it probably came off as more of a squint.

“Woah there, just take it easy alright? Woble is fine,” Leorio put a hand on the back of his neck, a guilty twist taking his mouth, eyebrows furrowing. “Well, in a matter of speaking anyway.”

Silence.

Leorio seemed to wilt under the heat of his glare. He bustled around their little enclosure, a simple cot and cabinets, along with standard medical equipment, partitioned off from the rest by curtains. Leorio retrieved a bottle of water from one of the cabinets and offered it to Kurapika.

Kurapika sat up and snatched it out of his hand, quick to uncap the bottle. He took a sip, and it was a balm against the harsh scratch of his throat. He quickly drained the bottle in a matter of moments. He was so thirsty, thirsty enough for dread to settle over him. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days.”

Kurapika stood up, pain immediately blooming in his side. For the first time he noticed his lack of shirt, the bandages carefully wrapped around his stomach.

“Kurapika calm down! You’ll tear your stitches!”

Kurapika ignored him. It was nothing, he’ll just use Holy Chain. He needed to get back to Oito and the rest, needed to see Woble, needed to hold her, to see that she was safe. Then again, depending on how grievous the wound, using Holy Chain just may lay him out again, which would completely defeat the purpose of using it in the first place. He could admit he wasn’t in the greatest shape, and Emperor Time had all the potential to make things worse.

He took a few steps on bare feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. He bit his lip. He would just have to risk it. Just as he conjured his chains, Leorio came to stand in front of him, barring his way.

“Kurapika, you need to calm down. Whatever worse case scenario you’re cooking up in that crazy blond head of yours, I promise you it isn’t it. Don’t go running off half-cocked,” Leorio held his hands up, palms open. “Just sit your ass down for a minute and I’ll tell you everything I know!”

Kurapika observed him for a moment, felt his eyes burn scarlet behind his contacts. Three days. The thought that it had been three days kept running through his mind.

But Leorio’s eyes were calm behind his glasses, and Kurapika forced himself to take a calming breath, willed away the red from his eyes, and took a seat on the edge of the cot, mindful of his injury and wincing despite himself. “Start talking.”

“Allright. The ones that attacked you guys, they were the second prince’s men, that’s what that Babimyna guy told me when he brought you in, he recognized their uniforms. And their objective wasn’t to kill your charge, at least not directly.”

Kurapika opened his mouth, but Leorio put a hand up, silencing him.

“They cursed Woble,” Kurapika stood up again, and his vision fuzzed around the edges, Leorio’s hand coming to steady him. “Damnit Kurapika, what did I just say!”

Kurapika pushed passed him, prepared to storm out of there, and all of the way to the 1st deck, a hurricane in his veins, black rain falling in torrents.

“They found a nen-exorcist Kurapika.” Leorio called from behind him. “Woble is fine. She’s completely fine.”

And just like that, the storm whooshed right out of him, leaving him tired and so, so relieved.

“That’s good to hear. But I still need to get back to them.”

“Kurapika, you need to rest!”

“I’ve rested for three days. That will have to be enough.”

Leorio sighed. “Alright, it’s not like I can stop you. But at least let me re-wrap your bandages before you go, and take some pain killers with you for god’s sake.”

Kurapika felt guilty as Leorio went to work, knowing that he would probably resort to using Holy Chain in the end. Still, if he could buy himself a couple days before he used it, it might lessen the recoil of Emperor Time. At this point, he needed every mercy he could get.

“Thank you,” he told Leorio as the man handed him a bottle of painkillers. And he meant it, despite all his reservations.

Leorio scoffed, waving him off. “It’s no big deal.” He eyed him for a moment. “But if you really want to thank me, try a little harder to not get your ass kicked next time. I would really appreciate it.”

Kurapika choked out a laugh. “I’ll keep your request in mind the next time someone tries to kill me.”

Leorio huffed, crossing his arms. “See that you do.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes, not unfondly. He retrieved his shirt and pulled it on, frowning at the itch against his skin where blood saturated the fabric, stiff and dry. He buttoned it up quickly, and Leorio handed him his jacket. He shrugged it on, trying not to wince at the pull of his stitches.

He made his way back to the 1st deck as quickly as he could without outright running. By the time his feet came to a stop outside room 1014, he was almost out of breath, the pain in his abdomen shooting bright and vicious along his nerves. He took a moment to get his bearings, and rapt lightly on the door. “It’s Kurapika, I’m coming in.”

He opened the door and rushed in, his steps taking him rapidly towards the living area.

“Kurapika, thank goodness you’re alright,” Oito rushed out of the master bedroom to meet him. Her features smoothed over in soft relief, her eyes shining wetly. For a moment Kurapika thought that she might hug him. At the last second she seemed to remember decorum and held herself back, her arms faltering in her reach for him and dropping to her sides.

She looked at him and smiled. “I have someone I would like you to meet.” Oito disappeared back into the main bedroom and came out with a man, Woble cradled carefully in his arms.

The breath froze in Kurapika’s throat.

“Kurapika, this is the man that saved Woble’s life.” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. This could not be reality. Panic and anger washed over him, and Kurapika had to fight to keep his body from shaking. His chained hand clenched, gouging bloody indents into his palm.

The dark coat, the white trim brushing against his neck. The hair, dark against the white of the gauze, the inked cross hidden, a secret. Those lying hands held Woble close against his chest, grip gentle, hold secure. And Woble, oblivious, lay content in his arms, tiny hand fisted in black cloth, eyes blinking up in innocent wonder at the face of a cut-throat. “This is the nen-exorcist, Kuroro Lucilfer.”

Those dark eyes looked at him steadily. That mouth softened on a smile.

“Kurapika,” he said, deep and dark and curling. “So good it is to meet you.” His smile sharpened, and his hands tightened on Woble, brief but threateningly clear. “I look forward to working with you.”

The storm was back in his blood, his vision lost to the red haze, burning bright behind his contacts. In that moment, he dearly regretted not ending this wretched life when he had the chance.

Because by the gods.

The grave hungered.

* * *

The guards barring the way to the 4th deck looked bored until Kuroro approached them, Shizuku and Bonolenov following closely in his wake. The front guard gave them a quick once-over, eyes lingering on Bonolenov, his eyebrow quirking. Bonolenov just stared back impassively, and the man shrugged.

“Passes,” he demanded, holding out a hand.

Shizuku tilted her head. “Passes? We don’t have any of those.”

The guard frowned, irritation wrinkling his brow. “Then move along. Nobody gets through without the proper documentation.”

Kuroro hummed, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Behind you, on the wall,” he gestured with his chin, and the guard turned his head to see what he was talking about. “Is that what I think it is?”

The guard turned back to look at him, annoyance hardening his jaw. “There’s nothing there. Stop wasting my time, and get moving. Don’t make me get the Royal Army involved.”

“Are you certain?” Kuroro looked the guard dead in the eye, a smirk sharpening the line of his mouth. “Perhaps it’s hiding? Too often people don’t realize a Spider’s presence until after it has bitten them.”

The guard opened his mouth, and Kuroro flashed his eyebrows meaningfully. It took a moment, and then he was watching the guard’s eyes widen comically, his mouth forming a perfect O. The other guards looked at them in stunned silence.

The comings and goings of the lower decks were all controlled by the mafia, and the Cha-R had already given the Troupe the green light to expand their search to the 4th deck. The surprise of the guards was strange, surely they had been expecting them?

The guard floundered for a moment, clearly at a loss for words, before standing aside and letting them through. The odd situation didn’t click until the guard at the end of the corridor gave them a look as they passed, awe plain in his rounded eyes, the slack of his jaw.

Kuroro found himself fighting off a smile.

Phinks had told him all about the Cha-R underboss asking for his autograph as soon as his lackeys had scattered and they were alone. Their decimation of the mafia in York New had created many ripples within the community, and it would seem that enough opportunities had been created as a result of their actions to color them a shade closer to heroes in the eyes of the younger members. Spider fanboys, how utterly ridiculous. They were no gentleman thieves. Kuroro would not hesitate to take advantage.

They had to put in a little more work when it came to getting access to the 3rd deck. The guards were in the pocket of the Heil-Ly family, and while they could have killed them with ease and without witnesses, Kuroro didn’t want to risk tipping off Morena to the presence of uninvited guests in her territory. It would be a nuisance if she ran, and he didn’t want to spend anymore time on her than what was necessary to ensure that the Black Whale remained above water.

They ended up lingering near the access way, the three of them seated around a table just outside the 4th deck recreational zone. It was far enough away to avoid any attention, but close enough to strike when opportunity knocked. They waited for fifteen minutes before they found suitable marks, a group of three coming down from the 3rd deck. A group of Hunters, if the H’s on their suits and the presence of nen was anything to go by, unimpressive as it was.

Kuroro took to his feet, his Spiders following wordlessly. They trailed behind the Hunters, their auras muted, blending in with the other passengers. Their chance came when the Hunters stopped at a door. They whispered quietly to each other, but he heard every word.

“We should be able to talk in here. Gungi isn’t really popular with the Kakins. Nobody should disturb us.”

“Good. We need to re-evaluate our plan, Pariston told us nothing about the Succession War. I wonder if he even knew about it?”

“Who knows. The only reason we even know about it is because things are getting out of control on the 3rd deck, and that Zodiac was forced to spill the beans. Would have been nice to know before I agreed to guard the residential area, that’s for damned sure. I’m telling you, it was a bloody nightmare.”

Before the door could fully close behind them, the Spiders moved. Two of them were dead before they knew what hit them, Kuroro’s pens finding their marks in the back of their heads. He retrieved them, taking care to wipe them off on the suits of his victims. Bonolenov broke the neck of the third, a horizontal chop faster than the man could fathom, quick and painless. Shizuku went to work rifling through their pockets, and within moments they each had a pass that would grant them access to the 3rd deck.

After a spotless cleanup courtesy of Blinky, they took their leave, passes in hand. The guards waved them through the 3rd deck access way upon a quick inspection of their passes, and they were home free.

The first thing that Kuroro noticed about the 3rd deck was how quiet it was. The community areas were empty, the passengers sequestered in their rooms. The threat of a serial killer still at large lingered in the shadows, the few people that wandered the corridors did so with haste, quick to get their business done so they could return to the safety of their rooms. Hunters dotted the residential corridors, offering whatever peace of mind their presence afforded. After dispatching three of them, Kuroro didn’t think it amounted to much.

The lack of people made it easy to get around undetected, and on quick feet Kuroro led the way toward Morena’s hideaway. He stopped in front of the placard bearing the numbers 344, the room Morena had allegedly retreated to after performing rites with her faithful. Kuroro summoned Bandit’s Secret. He looked to his Spiders. Shizuku conjured Blinky and nodded. Bonolenov brought his fists together, meeting Kuroro’s eye, and they were ready. The pages of Bandit’s Secret fluttered, and Kuroro teleported them instantly into the room. His blood ran cold at what he saw.

The room was empty. It was missing even the standard fare, not a piece of furniture to be found. Empty except for one thing. A jack-in-the-box sat innocently on the floor. The face of a clown decorated the front of the box, serene in expression and painted watercolor soft. Kuroro approached, his steps cautious. He used gyo, carefully studying the box before taking in the rest of the room. There was nothing amiss, no hidden threads of nen.

He picked up the jack-in-the-box, the metal cool against his hands.

“I don’t know about this Danchou,” Shizuku spoke up. “Those things give me the creeps.”

Bonolenov folded his arms. “Smells like a trap to me.”

Kuroro hummed thoughtfully. “A trap. Or a taunt.” The longer he stared at the box in his hands, the more he was sure about what had happened. Something dark slipped into his heart, the cold burn of malice filling his veins.

Slowly, he turned the crank. A melody played, and it echoed in his ears hollowly. At its crescendo, the lid popped open and a playing card flew out of the box, ends razor sharp. Kuroro dodged to the side, the card rushing past his face and embedding itself into the wall.

Bonolenov whistled, “And there it is.”

Kuroro pulled the playing card from the wall. The face of the joker grinned back at him. A lipstick kiss was drawn very carefully on the jokers mouth, and he rubbed at it with a thumb, finding the lipstick to be genuine.

For a moment he just looked at the residue on his thumb.

The joker. Hisoka. A kiss…Morena.

Kuroro chuckled, his voice catching on the sharp edge of hate, torn open and spilling darkly.

“Danchou?” Shizuku asked, eyes curious.

“Our enemies have come together to shore up their sins.” Kuroro tossed the card to Shizuku. She caught it with deft fingers and studied it, Bono coming up beside her to do the same. “Hisoka has joined hands with Morena.”

Shizuku pocketed the card, her lips turning down in thought. She adjusted her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. “Looks like Hisoka is having fun.”

Bonolenov sighed. “Word of the hunt must have gotten around the mafia channels. It’s not surprising that the Heil-Ly family would find him first if he’s always been on this floor.”

“Unless it was Hisoka that approached them. Morena’s little game would be ideally suited to his interests,” Kuroro said.

Shizuku’s eyes sharpened, the way they always did when she solved a particularly difficult puzzle. “If he’s playing in earnest then, by the time we catch up to him…” she trailed off.

“Yes,” Kuroro turned the toy over in his hands. Despite its contents consisting of only one playing card, it was rather large. “I imagine he’ll have another surprise for us.” He resolved to keep the jack-in-the-box. The next thing that would be popping out of it would be Hisoka’s head.

He turned to his Spiders. “Bonolenov, I want you to investigate the Heil-Ly family’s abandoned headquarters. See if they left anything of import behind, anything we can use to track them down or undermine their position. Shizuku, rendezvous with Phinks. See what you can find out about the mafia’s informant network onboard. I want to know who tipped them off. We’ll meet at the vista area on this deck when you’re through.”

Bono nodded, and Shizuku did a quick, enthusiastic salute. “Yes Danchou!”

He watched them leave, before making his own exit. As he moved through the corridors, he couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, how easier this would be with Paku, with Shalnark. The thought caused pain to bloom in his chest, a black rose held against the flesh of his heart, thorns bloody.

As he was thinking about his blond Spiders, a flash of blond caught his eye. He quickly ducked around a corner so he could observe without being noticed. A fair haired man in Kakin fatigues rushed down the corridor, an all too familiar blond held limply in his arms. Blood stained the boy’s abdomen, and he remained unresponsive as the man’s arms tightened around him, face set on grim determination.

They were followed closely by a beautiful woman with dark, curly hair. She was holding a crying baby close to her chest, and oh, wasn’t that interesting. The baby’s fine clothing was streaked with blood, though she seemed unhurt. Except.

Kuroro focused his nen into his eyes. There was a dark aura around the child. It rippled spitefully, syrup thick and just as slow. It seemed to suck all of the heat from the air, a trail of coldness left in their wake as they passed by where Kuroro had hidden himself. He hummed thoughtfully. Someone had such hate for this child. Such a curse would not be possible, otherwise.

Another man hovered protectively near the mother and child. His face was rather plain, his gaze darting around, looking for any sign of threats. He was clearly her bodyguard. “Your Majesty, should you really be down here? I know you want to check on Kurapika, but you and Woble are fresh off of a close call. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be down here.“

“Safe?” The woman, the queen, said. She tried to comfort the baby in her arms, but there was no comfort to be had. Not with a curse like that. As they moved toward the infirmary, Kuroro followed close behind, careful to stay off their radar. An easy enough feat for the Head of the Phantom Troupe. “There’s no such place for us, the Succession War has made sure of that.” They made it to the infirmary doors, and Kuroro ducked in after them, quickly hiding in a small room sectioned off by curtains. The occupants were too busy dealing with the injured blond to notice him. He peered carefully through one of the gaps.

There was a dark haired man with glasses, one he recognized as Kurapika’s accomplice in York New. His composure was non-existent, his face twisting on worry when presented with his injured friend. The three men disappeared behind one of the curtains, and Kuroro heard the doctor yelling, demanding an explanation. The man in fatigues responded levelly.

Kuroro listened to their conversation while watching the queen take a seat in the waiting area, the chair plastic and uncomfortable, the kind meant to dissuade anyone from lingering too long. Her head dropped, and she tucked her face against her baby. The wet shine of tears threatened at her eyes.

“Your Majesty…” the bodyguard began, but the queen shook her head.

“What am I going to do? Kurapika’s down, and the others have been killed. And Woble,” tears ran freely from her dark eyes. “Woble’s been cursed, and I don’t know what that means.” She looked up at her bodyguard helplessly. “She feels so cold in my arms. Almost like…almost like,” her voice broke, and she shook her head, biting her lip.

“Your Majesty, it’s going to be okay. The Hunter Association is bound to have a nen-exorcist, they wouldn’t embark on a journey like this without one. We just need to find them. The prince will be okay.”

The queen looked at her daughter, ran a thumb down a delicate cheek. “But will they help us? The Hunter Association is supposed to be neutral as far as the Succession War is concerned. If they help one prince—“ she shook her head, her tear stained eyes on the curtain the others had disappeared behind. “It doesn’t even matter. If Kurapika doesn’t make it, we won’t either. I know it. I know it in my bones.”

The bodyguard opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the doctor and the man in fatigues bursting out from the sectioned room, the curtain fluttering closed behind them. The queen immediately stood up, her voice inquiring, but Kuroro kept his eyes on that curtain, their conversation a muted hum in the background of his thoughts.

A plan formed in his mind, blueprints newly inked, the paper settling. Unbidden, Bandit’s Secret appeared in his hand. The pages fluttered, and he teleported himself past that curtain.

On soundless steps, he walked up to the cot, where the chain assassin lay unmoving, helpless. The blond’s abdomen was wrapped carefully with bandages, and he looked thin under the gauze, his pale skin stretched tight around his bones. The skin under his eyes looked bruised, like he hadn’t had a single night of rest since last they met. And maybe he hadn’t.

Kuroro had been gifted with plenty of time to figure out what to do about the chain assassin. Plenty of time to plan a reprisal, as soon as he was free from the chain on his heart.

Kuroro reached out a hand, his fingers hovering over the blond’s throat.

He had known his name, the blond’s affiliation with the Nostrade family. He had figured out his objective, the reclamation of his brethren’s eyes. How dangerous it was, to get into bed with flesh collectors, when you yourself were so tempting a trophy. How easy it would be to expose him. It would have been so, so easy to make his life difficult, to push his objective so far out of his reach he’d never taste victory. To put him in a position where he’d always be looking over his shoulder. With so high a price tag attached to your neck, who could you really trust? People killed for so much less.

Kuroro’s hand shifted away from his vulnerable neck, his fingers moving to brush the blond hair away from Kurapika’s face. It was soft under his fingers, a gold spun longer than last he’d seen it, hellfire spitting from red eyes as the airship left him, alone in the desert, his heart chained, as well as his life, to the enemy.

He hadn’t done it. He hadn’t done any of it.

His hand drifted down, his palm pressing against Kurapika’s chest, over his heart. The pale skin was warm under his hand, the heartbeat weak, like the flutter of a bird’s broken wings.

But as he stood there, Kurapika’s heartbeat seemed to strengthen slowly, as if coaxed to life by the touch of Kuroro’s hand. By the threat of it.

Footsteps sounded in his direction, and Kuroro pulled away. He summoned Bandit’s Secret and teleported to just outside the Infirmary. He waited in plain sight, patiently, hands in the pockets of his coat.

When the queen made her exit, he approached with a friendly smile, his dark grey eyes concerned.

The bodyguard was quick to place himself in front of the queen. “Stay back! Who are you? State your business.”

Kuroro held his arms up, palms open. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice you earlier.” He looked pointedly at the young prince. “That’s quite the nasty curse. It’s obvious that you are in need of a nen-exorcist. And well,” Kuroro smiled, genuine amusement pulling softly at his lips. “I happen to be one.”

The queen’s eyes widened, a long buried hope surfacing in their depths, and he knew he had her.

Based on the queen's conversation with her guard earlier, the chain assassin seemed to be backed into quite the corner with the Succession War. Add to that his identity as a Kuruta, the prince affiliated mafia hiding in the shadows, Hisoka, and his Spiders.

Really, it was a perfect storm.

What was waiting on the other side of it, Kuroro wasn’t sure. Complete and utter destruction, probably. Or perhaps, a shaky bridge, formed from Hisoka’s bones and painted with the blood of royalty.

Kuroro looked forward to finding out. His Spiders lacked for members, after all. It was time enough to go about filling them.


	3. Der Doppelgänger

It was a distinct pleasure to watch those eyes set ablaze. The black contacts were unable to fully disguise a passion that brilliant, an ethereal red brimming at the edges.

Rage had rendered the blond mute, and as seconds passed and he failed to respond to Kuroro’s greeting, Oito fidgeted in discomfort, picking up on the tension yet blind to its cause.

“The 3rd prince’s body guards did not survive the attack,” Oito admitted to the blond. “He wasn’t happy about it, nor about the cancelation of the nen lessons.” She looked to her daughter in his arms, and Kuroro smiled reassuringly at her. She smiled in return and looked back at Kurapika, who stiffened at their exchange. Kuroro hid a smirk by tucking his face against Woble’s fine, blonde hair, his lips brushing softly against the crown of the child’s head. She smelled like milk and powder and something sweet. Something like getting even. Kurapika may not have been bound in chains, but he was restrained all the same. “I didn’t know what to do, but thankfully Kuroro was here.” Oito looked back at him, genuine gratitude in her dark, solemn eyes. “He kept us safe, while you were sleeping.”

He watched as Kurapika clenched and unclenched his fists, tried to fight off the tempest inside, the one he’d so easily surrendered himself to that night in York New, so eager to take his revenge on an enemy bound but unbroken. “Is that so?” Kurapika managed.

“I hadn’t planned on remaining here after the exorcism,” Kuroro lied. “But when the prince came calling, all the pieces fell into place, why anyone would curse an infant to begin with. The queen explained her unfortunate situation, so I offered my assistance.” Kuroro locked eyes with Kurapika, the dark cold of steel clashing with the burn of artificial black. “I’m glad that I decided to stick around. I think that we can help each other.”

“Help each other?” Kurapika muttered, studying him a moment longer. He turned to Oito. “Your Majesty, if you could take the prince back to your quarters. I need a few words with your new…bodyguard. In private.”

“Of course.”

Kurapika watched them closely as she moved to take her daughter from Kuroro’s arms. He handed the child over readily, point already made, threat implicit.

Once Oito was out of sight, the Chain Assassin didn’t waste a moment. His nen quickened, his chains extending before coiling, as ready to strike as a tightly wound snake.

Kuroro put his hands in his pockets, unbothered by the signs of aggression. He wasn’t the one with his back against the wall, and they both knew it.

“What is this? What the hell are you doing here?” Kurapika hissed at him, just barely managing to keep his voice in check.

Kuroro shrugged. “It was brought to my attention that the youngest prince was in need of assistance. It just so happens I could use assistance of a different kind myself.” He took a step towards Kurapika. “What are you doing here?”

“I should think that obvious.”

“Not at all.” Another step. “The reclamation of your brethren’s eyes. Revenge on the Troupe.” Another step. “Shielding the life of a foreign prince with your own? There’s no value to be had in that. Not for you.” Another step and he was standing directly in front of the blond, hands still tucked casually in his pockets. He let his gaze wander over the blond, took a moment to linger on the sorry state of his clothes, the rat’s nest taking root in his over long hair after three days of inattention. He met Kurapika’s gaze. “I understand things have been going poorly so far. It would be a shame, wouldn’t it? To lose everything over something that matters so little in the end.”

Kurapika’s gaze narrowed, his nen flaring and spitting hate. “Your lack of regard for Woble’s life does not surprise me. No, I suppose it wouldn’t add up to you.”

“Why are you really here, Kurapika?”

Kurapika laughed, voice bitter. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ve brought bug spray?”

Kuroro’s eyes glinted. “Have you?” He all but whispered.

Kurapika huffed. “You flatter yourself, and insult me. If the extermination of insects was something I still concerned myself with, I would have struck when you were scattered, when your Spiders were without leadership, when they would have hesitated to kill, knowing that I’d be taking you down to hell with me.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Kurapika crossed his arms, defensive. “There are more important things.”

“Things, like Scarlet Eyes. Which is why you’re really on this ship.”

“You say that like you knew from the beginning.”

“I suspected as much. You don’t strike me as the type to be swayed from your goals so easily. There were only two possibilities. One much more likely than the other.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve established I’m not here to hunt you down, tell me what you want, Lucilfer. Removing the curse from Woble, offering your services to the queen. What do you want? What game are you trying to play?”

Kuroro moved away from the blond, looked around the suite. “There’s something on this boat that I want. Several things really, but one is more important than the others.” He turned back towards Kurapika. “Your three day trip to the infirmary, and the success of the curse on the 14th prince is proof enough. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s not enough. There are too many who would see Woble dead. You can’t protect her from them all. Not by yourself.”

Kurapika bristled. “I’m not by myself.”

Kuroro hummed. “Aren’t you? Bill is no fighter. The queen looks scrappy, but it would do her no good against a nen user. Or do you count the 1st prince’s spy as your ally?”

“Speaking of which. Where is he?”

“Reporting to the 1st prince I should think. It’s been rather eventful lately.”

“With you here, I’m sure it has been. What do you want Lucilfer?”

“The Spider isn’t what it used to be. We’ve lost the legs most adept at reconnaissance. On this ship, that lack is beginning to be a problem.”

“Such wonderful news,” Kurapika traced a finger against his chains thoughtfully, as if remembering the lives he had ended with them. Despite his words, he did not look happy. “And this leads you here because?”

“The queen has told me all about your attempts to stay the hands of the other princes. Nen lessons. A stalemate. How long did you expect this tactic to work?”

“Get to your point.”

“If I hadn’t been here while you were away, who’s to say what would have happened when the 3rd prince came calling? What would have happened to Woble, had the curse run its course? The point is, Kurapika, that we can help each other.” Kuroro raised his arms in a friendly gesture, palms open. “I propose an accord. You need more hands on deck. We need access, and information.”

“Access. Information. Why would you look to me for this? There are others on this ship skilled enough for your purposes I’m sure.”

“We have unfinished business, Chain Assassin. You tied are fates together once before. It was masterful really, I was so sure that the upper hand was mine until I felt your chain pierce my heart,” Kuroro once again closed the distance between them, stopped when they were standing toe-to-toe. He tilted his head and leaned forward, his lips right next to Kurapika’s ear. The blond tensed at his closeness. “You were masterful, Kurapika. Never before have I been at the mercy of another’s life.” As he spoke, his lips brushed butterfly soft against the shell of the blond’s ear, and Kurapika trembled the slightest bit. Whether in rage or disgust or something else entirely, who could say? To his credit, he stood his ground and didn’t give Kuroro an inch.

Kuroro allowed himself a brief smirk under the cover of Kurapika’s wild blond hair, before he dropped it and pulled away. He looked into Kurapika’s eyes, no doubt burning under the cloak of darkness. It was a shame he couldn’t see them. “I say we finish things between us. I will help you get the eyes, and I will protect your prince. In exchange you will offer whatever aid you can in ending Hisoka’s life.”

Kurapika’s brow furrowed, confusion leaking into his voice. “What do you mean? I saw the footage of your match in Heaven’s Arena. I saw him fall.”

“You saw him fall,” Kuroro agreed. “He got back up.”

“So he survived then. The battle is over. Why pursue his life?”

“Like I said. The Spider isn’t what it used to be.”

As realization bloomed on Kurapika’s face, Kuroro waited. Waited for the pull of lips, the darkening of the eyes, the spark of amusement. He watched for signs of happiness, of pleasure; but in Kurapika’s face, he found none of these. “I see,” Kurapika said at length. Under Kuroro’s intense gaze, the blond finally looked away. “What I don’t see, is how any of this settles things between us.”

“Don’t you?” Kuroro asked. He closed the distance between them again, until Kurapika met his eyes. “You said it yourself. Some things are more important. And those things? You’re not going to get them without my help. You won’t even get off of this ship alive. As for me? Considering Hisoka’s accomplice wants to burn the world down, but will settle for this ship? Well, the same could be said for me. On both counts.”

“Bastard! Do you think I give a damn about what happens to you?”

“Maybe not. But would you see this ship sunk just to spite me? Would you sink yourself? Would you sink all those more important things?”

Kurapika growled, and this time it was him closing the distance between them. He grabbed a handful of Kuroro’s shirt and yanked him down, face to face. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Lucilfer!” Kurapika hissed.

“Maybe not,” Kuroro said, unaffected. “But by your own admission, you had opportunity enough to strike at us when the Spider was still hobbled. You elected not to. Despite our motto, I was the same. I don’t fully understand why. With this agreement, I would pull at the thread of it, see where it goes.”

A throat cleared, and they both turned their heads to see Shimano standing awkwardly nearby. “Sorry to interrupt, but dinner’s ready. The queen is waiting for you.”

Kurapika took an obvious breath, and then another. He released his grip on Kuroro, allowing the other man to straighten up and smooth out his shirt. He took two steps away from Kuroro, showing him his back.

“Fine. It looks like we have a deal, Lucilfer.”

Before he could follow Shimano into the dining room, Kuroro called after him. “By the way, Kurapika. Before you join the queen, I think a shower might be in order. You smell a bit ripe.”

Kurapika whirled around and punched him in the mouth.

Kuroro let him, just this once.

He put a finger to his lips, traced over the flesh made tender.

He tasted blood and smiled.

Kurapika stormed away towards the servant quarters, and Kuroro watched him go without complaint.

All storms passed.

* * *

Hair still wet from his shower, Kurapika fumed where he sat at the dining table. He couldn’t even take any satisfaction in the bruise blooming on the side of Kuroro’s mouth, Oito’s unhappiness at his actions enough to plant remorse in soil better left barren.

In his three days of absence, it was obvious that Kuroro had charmed the inhabitants of room 1014. Bill, who he had inadvertently woken up from his break as he tore through the shared servant’s quarters, seemed to be more than happy to break bread with the mass murderer.

The biggest slap in the face was Woble. He had thought the child a better judge of character. Apparently not. He tried not to hold it against them. They didn’t know, and at this point telling them would cause too many problems. He hated to admit it, but Kuroro was right. They needed help. More help than Kurapika could provide on his own. Kuroro’s presence in and of itself was testament to the fact. It was insanity, but Woble’s life was worth going along with it.

If Kurapika was gripping his knife a little too tightly, no one said anything about it. He glared at Kuroro across the table, but it was hard to keep it up. He was exhausted.

Before he made it to the bathroom, he had asked Bill if they had heard any news from Melody. They hadn’t. Considering she was going to meet Tserriednich the last time he had seen her…

Bill cleared his throat from where he sat next to Kurapika. “So…how do you two know each other?”

Kurapika opened his mouth, but Kuroro beat him to it. “We traveled together once. We met in a taxi, and ended up taking the same airship.”

“Traveled together? Is that all?” Bill looked at Kurapika. Kurapika locked eyes with Kuroro for a moment and nodded.

“Yes, we traveled together. It wasn’t for more than a day, though.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Oito said after a short silence where everyone got back to their meals. Kurapika took a sip of water. “To be honest, with the tension between you two earlier, I was afraid you were ex-lovers.”

Kurapika choked on his water, and Kuroro raised an eyebrow.

Bill reached over and pat his back as Kurapika fought not to drown from water and his own shock. “Wh-“ he coughed. “Why would you t-“ he ended in a coughing fit.

Kuroro took a bite of his food. He wasn’t quite fast enough to hide his smirk, the bastard. “Can you imagine? How awkward would that be?”

Shimano tittered behind a napkin. “That would make it hard to work together, wouldn’t it?”

“Quite,” and this time Kuroro didn’t bother to hide his smile as he looked at Kurapika. “Good thing there’s nothing like that to put bad blood between us. The prince is better for it, don’t you think?”

Kurapika cleared his throat and caught his breath. He met Kuroro’s amused eyes with his own, and tried to convey the anger he could not give voice to. “Of course. Woble’s safety is the most important thing.” He turned his gaze to the table at large. “So what has happened the last three days.”

“Besides the obvious? I’m assuming Leorio told you what he knew?” Bill asked. At Kurapika’s nod, he continued. “Word got around about the attack. We got a visit from the 3rd prince and his bodyguards. Let me tell you, they were very obvious about what they wanted to do with their guns.”

“The prince was very suspicious about the circumstances,” Oito added. “Only his men were killed. He accused us of being in league with the 2nd prince.”

“So what happened?” Kurapika asked.

“I convinced him that wasn’t the case,” Kuroro said.

“And how did you do that, exactly?”

“Come now. I can’t give all my secrets away.”

Kurapika looked to Bill,but he shook his head. “I don’t know either. I took Oito and Woble into the main bedroom when things started to look dicey.”

In the other room, Woble started to cry. Oito excused herself from the table and went to check on her. Shimano began gathering the plates after that, and Bill gave Kurapika a considering look.

“You should get some sleep,” his gaze shifted to Kuroro. “You both should. I’ll take the night guard. I got plenty of rest during the day while Kuroro was on duty. I can handle things until the morning.”

Kurapika opened his mouth, but Bill raised a hand. “Don’t argue with me. You look like shit, Kurapika. And don’t think I didn’t notice your wince when you sat down.” He stood up and looked at Kuroro. “Help me out would you? I can look after babies just fine. Stubborn Hunters on the other hand.” And with that he was gone.

Kurapika was left at the table with Kuroro Lucilfer.

Kuroro got up and walked around the table. He stood in front of Kurapika and tilted his head. “Well?”

Kurapika frowned. “Well what?”

“Do you need help getting up, or is that wound not as nasty as it looks?”

Kurapika looked down, and cursed when he saw that his fresh white dress shirt was stained red. He must have been to hasty when he redressed his wound.

He ignored Kuroro and got to his feet. It hurt, the motion pulling at the wound on his stomach, but he kept his face straight. Kuroro’s dark eyes bore into him, perhaps looking for a sign of weakness. Kurapika would be damned if he gave it to him. 

“Come,” Kuroro said. “Let’s take Bill up on his offer. We have much to discuss, and you need to see about your injury.”

Despite his misgivings, Kurapika followed the Spider into the servant’s quarters. Kurapika hadn’t noticed when he had stormed past, but there was a duffel bag on one of the beds that wasn’t there before. The thought of sleeping in such close quarters with Kuroro didn’t sit well with him. He thought about picking up and moving to the woman’s side, but Shimano would probably have a heart attack. And what could he say to justify it? Whatever flimsy excuse he could manage would only cast doubt on their lie. Another complication, on top of a mountain of them.

Kuroro shut the door, and Kurapika headed straight to his own bag. He grabbed a sleep shirt and some lose pants before heading for the adjoining bathroom. He opened the cupboard with the medical kit and grabbed some gauze out of it. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. Standing in front of one of the sinks, Kurapika stared at the mirror and began to unwrap the binding on his stomach. It came away wetter than expected, and Kurapika wondered if he’d torn his stitches in record time. He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water. He then rung it out and dabbed at his skin. To his relief, the stitches held firm. He found some petroleum jelly in the medical kit and applied a thin layer to his wound. When he was done, he wrapped the gauze around his stomach, this time with the care he didn’t afford himself the first time.

Feeling eyes on him, Kurapika looked up, and he met Kuroro’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. The man was standing in the doorway, clad in a loose shirt and sweatpants, forehead naked and tattoo stark against his pale skin. A strange sensation fell into his bones in that moment. For a heartbeat his own reflection disappeared, and all he could see was Kuroro. It was unsettling. He blinked and the moment was over. His own reflection stared back at him once again.

In the meanwhile, Kuroro had wandered over to the next sink. He brushed his teeth and smiled at Kurapika’s flummoxed expression. “Do you mind?” Kurapika gritted out.

Kuroro just shrugged, and spit into the sink. “It’s a communal bathroom isn’t it?”

Kurapika found he had nothing to say to that, so he kept his silence until Kuroro flashed him one last smile before leaving. When the other man was gone, he quickly changed into his pajamas and put the medical kit away. He brushed his teeth, grabbed his hairbrush from one of the drawers and gathered his dirty clothes under one arm. He took a breath, steeled his nerves, and left the bathroom.

Kuroro was sitting on the bed he had claimed, a book open on his lap. Once again that strange feeling came over Kurapika, and it almost gave him pause as he made his way to his own bed, thankfully several bunks away.

Kurapika stored his dirty clothes in a nearby hamper before sitting down, hairbrush falling into his lap. It was going to be a bitch lifting his arms high enough to get at the tangles in his hair, his stitches were not going to be happy.

He looked at Kuroro only to find the man watching him over the rim of his open book, dark eyes unreadable.

“Tell me about Hisoka’s accomplice,” Kurapika said. “You said they want to sink the ship?”

Kuroro hummed. “Yes. But I changed my mind. Let’s save that discussion for the morning. Bill is right. You look like shit. You should get some sleep.”

Kurapika bristled, thought about arguing but then decided he didn’t care. He turned away from Kuroro and began to angrily pull the brush through his hair, the pain somehow less than it should have been in his anger. He felt Kuroro’s stare on the back of his neck, but the other man said nothing, which was really too bad. One more word and Kurapika would have hurled the hairbrush at his expressionless face. The tattoo would serve him well as a target.

That night, he was sure that sleep would be impossible. With Kuroro there, how could he let his guard down? Yet somehow the world fell away, and he sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was the best night of sleep he’d had since boarding the Black Whale. It must have been the pain medication Leorio had given him.

In the middle of the ocean, surrounded by enemies, there was nothing else that could have given him peace of mind.

But who would hold it against him if he felt the slightest bit less worried about Woble, about the safety of everyone in room 1014. All this time, he’d been worried about the dangers lurking without. Now that a Spider lurked within, the rest paled in comparison.


	4. Skinless

Kurapika awoke to the familiar silence of early morning. He was quick to shrug off the lingering hands of sleep, alertness sharpening his gaze as he took in the empty room. His heart thundered in his ears, and for a moment he was devout and disciple of Phobos, panic clouding his better judgement.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. If Kuroro had wanted to harm the inhabitants of suite 1014, he would have already done so. Kurapika would have woken up in that hospital bed and wished he hadn’t, a fresh hell waiting beyond the heavy door and polished numbers. And what lay beyond, well—that didn’t warrant thinking about.

He wasn’t about to be led into a false sense of security, but for whatever reason, revenge against him didn’t appear to be on the agenda. Or at the very least, he wasn’t their foremost priority. And until such a time as that changed, he would go along with it, mindful of the Spider’s web.

He got up and quickly went about getting ready. The ache in his abdomen wasn’t as sharp as the previous day, advanced healing by the grace of nen speeding up the recovery process. It wasn’t instantaneous, as it would have been with Holy Chain, but it was nothing to sneeze at either. It would take several more days to completely heal, but strangely enough he wasn’t worried about his capacity to keep everyone safe. The Spider seemed to be determined in his trespass, and Kurapika would take advantage of that. They were territorial creatures, after all.

On his way to the bathroom he stopped at the bunk Kuroro had used, the book sitting atop the carefully made bed giving him pause. The cover was worn but well cared for, and Kurapika rested careful fingers against the words embossed in gold leaf, trailed them across the fine detailing. It was a hardbound copy of _Defying the Gods: Hubris and the Rise and Fall of the Unicorn Tribe._

Like the Kuruta clan, the remains of members of the Unicorn Tribe were highly prized among flesh collectors. Specifically their skulls, and especially the skulls of children. He knew that their society had fallen some 900 years ago, but he was hazy on the details. Information about their culture was something of a commodity among elite circles, and they were not so keen on sharing it.

A frown tugged lightly at Kurapika’s mouth. Now that he was thinking about it, didn’t Melody get a hold of a skull for her initiation into the Nostrade Family? Or perhaps Baise or Basho? In any case, the thought of Melody sent ice into his veins. It was going on day four now and still no word. He bit his lip. He couldn’t imagine the worst. If he did, he would end up going over there and kicking the door down. It would be chaos, and it would break every gossamer thin thread of trust he’s managed to gain with the other princes. He would be considered hostile, and by extension, Woble and the queen.

Once he was done with his morning routine, he headed out of the servant’s quarters to find Kuroro and Babimyna sitting across from each other, heads bent close together over the coffe table, voices too soft for Kurapika to make out from a distance.

Babimyna sat up when he noticed his presence, he straightened his posture and gave Kurapika a once over. “It’s good to see you back on your feet. I was hoping you’d pull through.”

Kurapika met his eyes, and wondered how much of that was true. “I understand it was you who rushed me to the infirmary. Thank you.”

Babimyna shrugged.

Kurapika could feel Kuroro’s dark eyes burning into him, but he ignored him.

“I hope I didn’t cause trouble for you. I know the 1st prince isn’t exactly my biggest fan.” He was sure that was a massive understatement. For the higher ranked princes, the deaths of the younger were all but forgone conclusions. Easy kills. Kurapika would defy this expectation to his last breath.

Babimyna’s brow furrowed, the line of his jaw more severe than usual. “You let me worry about that. You’re a troublemaker, but Prince Benjamin is a rational man. If I were you, I’d be more concerned about Prince Camilla.” With that he nodded to Kuroro and took up his usual spot by the wall, far enough away to give them privacy.

Kuroro gestured for him to sit down, and Kurapika obliged him. They had things to discuss. But first.

“What were you two whispering about?”

“Ah, there’s been interesting news. The 9th prince has been arrested on suspicion of murder.”

Kurapika couldn’t quite keep the surprise from his face. The news was unsettling. They had been feeling a ridiculous amount of aura radiate from the direction of the 9th prince’s quarters periodically over the last week. If he was looking to actively participate in the Succession War by killing…

“Why would Babimyna tell you this?” Kurapika asked, the edge of suspicion sharp on his tongue. “Loyal bodyguard of the 14th prince that you are.”

Kuroro smiled. “We cut a deal. Information for information.”

Kurapika went very still for a moment, mind racing. He opened his mouth, but Kuroro cut him off.

“I didn’t tell him anything about you,” Kuroro leaned back against the sofa and regarded Kurapika. “That particular information is not for sell or trade.”

Kurapika bit his lip against the need to ask him why. Kuroro was a murderer and a thief a thousand times over. There was nothing in the world sacred to him. Nothing without its price-tag.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Kuroro leaned forward. He folded his arms against his legs, and watched Kurapika with wide, unblinking eyes. For a monster, he looked oddly young and unaffected. Sins had a way of writing themselves across a man’s face, but this couldn’t be said for the mastermind of the Spider. Despite all the suffering he caused, his face was without flaw. It was placid, the calm waters of an undisturbed lake. There was nothing to indicate a churning under the surface, no sign of guilt or malice.

It was unbelievable, how he could sit there and look Kurapika in the eyes like it was nothing. He had taken everything from him, made a grave of his heart and home. His future was drenched in kerosene, burned away with every flicker of Kurutan fire in his eyes. All so he could kill them right back. For red rivers in the desert, guilt and gunpowder.

“No,” Kurapika crossed his arms, and Kuroro raised an eyebrow. “Strangely enough I do. So what carrot did you wave at him than?”

“Hisoka’s accomplice. Morena Prudo, bastard daughter of Nasubi. She was instated as the head of the Heil-Ly Family and forced into the Succession War as a pawn for Prince Tserriednich. But it appears that she has plans of her own. Mass murder. Sending us all to a watery grave. That kind of thing. The enmity between the 1st and 4th prince is well known among the mafia. So I thought our spy friend there would like to know that the 4th prince doesn’t have the backing that he should.”

Kurapika took a moment to process this. “Tell me more about Morena.”

Kuroro told him. A murder game and participants determined to tear down everything that they could. Gods this was bad. He needed to notify Mizaistrom, assuming he didn’t already know. If this wasn’t nipped in the bud, things would escalate quickly, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything. The Whale would sink.

Kurapika covered his eyes with a hand and sighed deeply. Murphy’s Law was a son of a bitch. He uncovered his eyes to find Kuroro watching him.

“What?” Kurapika demanded.

Kuroro just shrugged, and Kurapika scowled.

“The 1st prince won’t be able to ignore the threat Morena poses. That should keep him occupied for a while. Was that your plan?”

“No. I wanted to inconvenience Morena. Initially, my plan was to kill her and be done with it. But that’s not what I want anymore.”

Kurapika frowned at that. “What changed?”

Kuroro looked at him, and Kurapika felt the breath freeze in his throat. His eyes were a lethal dose of mercury, narrow and brimming with unrestrained hate. His lips pulled away from his teeth, his scowl laid bare. And his aura. Kurapika recognized that kind of nen. It burned violently, ready to lash out at anything and everything. It promised blood and retribution. It sang of madness and desperation.

And pain.

“She’s standing between me and Hisoka,” Kuroro said lowly. “And for that I’ll tear her apart. I’ll tear them both apart.”

Kurapika was stunned to silence.

“We reject no one. So take nothing from us.”

As Kuroro visibly tried to calm himself down, the threat leaking out of his aura, Kurapika struggled to find words.

What the hell did Hisoka do?

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Kurapika finally managed. “The other Spiders. They’re on the ship, aren’t they?”

Kuroro said nothing for a moment. It was the strangest thing, watching the man come back to himself, his grey eyes softening as he returned Kurapika’s gaze.

What the hell did Hisoka do that Kurapika himself hadn’t?

“If we’re going to work together, I need to know all the pieces on the board.”

“Not necessarily,” Kuroro said. “But yes. They’re on the ship. I’d like to avoid calling on them if possible. It’s a bit of a race, and we all want the prize. Winner takes all.”

There had to be something he was missing. Everything was so at odds with the Troupe’s previous behavior. He remembered watching them from behind his sunglasses, the car running idle, tension thick in the air. Six members, his blonde target among them. And when they started sprinting in the direction of Hotel Beitacle, he knew that they were coming for him. He was of course not there, and they had ended up splitting their numbers to deal with their pursuers, but still. They had planned to confront him as a group of six. And before that, Killua and Gon wandered into an ambush when the Spiders had been looking for him. That time had been four. They had been careful. Yet now, it was a race. Reckless, considering who it was they were dealing with. It didn’t make sense…unless…no, that couldn’t be it.

 _Know your enemy before you strike your first blow._ Kurapika had tried to abide by those words as well as he could, and Hisoka’s information about Uvogin contributed no small amount to his victory. But that was it. After the first blow was struck, the Spiders behavior ran counter to his expectations. Hisoka had told him that he became a Spider by killing a member. The rule was cold-blooded, and he hadn’t expected sentimentality. Mistakes were made. He had intended to pick them off, one by one. That’s how he fashioned his nen. But they had formed ranks. Nobody went anywhere alone.

He remembers the anger on Gon’s face. The heat in his voice as he described how the Spider had cried. The information hadn’t sat well with Kurapika. It reminded him of Neon’s dry eyes when he told her of Dalzollene’s passing, someone who protected and took care of her since she was a little girl. He had built them up to be such monsters in his head, and look where he ended up. Working for someone even worse, in ways that shouldn’t matter as much as they did.

The fact of the matter was, Kurapika didn’t stand a chance in the face of their unexpected camaraderie. It was through sheer luck and friends of his own that he made it out of that situation. The close call had shaken his resolve, and he realized he needed to prioritize the Scarlet Eyes. Until his family knew peace, revenge could wait. The risk was simply too great.

And now? Now the Spiders were acting in the way he had previously expected, in the way that would have spelled victory for him back in York New. It was infuriating! What was he missing?

“What did Hisoka do, Kuroro?”

Kuroro raised an eyebrow. “I already told you.”

Kurapika shook his head. “But it’s the same for me, isn’t it?”

Kuroro looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “No.”

Kurapika frowned. “And yet here I sit, elbow deep in Spider blood.”

Kuroro’s gaze hardened, and maybe Kurapika was pushing it, pushing for a fight. Maybe he wanted to find Hisoka and congratulate him on a job well done.

“There is no equivalence. Not to me. I don’t expect you to understand. Meteor City…we have a unique code. And what Hisoka did…” Kuroro covered his mouth with his hand and looked at the coffee table between them. After a moment he dropped his hand and caught Kurapika’s gaze. “We will not suffer him to live. Just like when we lost our previous number eight. There will be a reckoning.”

“Sounds a bit hypocritical, for a murderer.”

“Not at all.”

Kurapika pressed his lips together. If Kuroro wouldn’t tell him what exactly Hisoka did beyond spilling Spider guts, than perhaps…

“The other Spider you mentioned. What happened to them?”

The look Kuroro gave him was indecipherable. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“I wasn’t exactly concerned with long dead Spiders when I came after you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kuroro was silent for a moment. “She was killed by Silva Zoldyck. I sent her out to case the location of a possible job. She was made, and a hit was taken out on her.”

Kurapika tried to puzzle out what was particularly heinous about the Spider’s death, but the pieces weren’t coming together.

“It was back around the birth of the troop, before we really made our bones. Before her death, we elected not to go forward with the job. She had made fast friends of two of her marks. Got attached. I deferred to her wishes, until I got in touch with Illumi Zoldyck and discovered who ordered the hit.”

Was that it? Number eight had felt an affinity toward her killers. A breach of trust, maybe? Betrayal? Emotional vulnerability? The Spiders didn’t seem quick to form bonds outside of the Troupe. To take advantage of that…that would make sense.

Kurapika opened his mouth, intent to test his hypothesis, maybe give him grief about the stupidity of trusting someone like Hisoka, if that was indeed the case, but Kuroro spoke before he could get a word out.

“Sheila was the first Spider we buried.”

* * *

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

Kuroro looked away from the blond, the loud insistent knocking stealing his attention. Kurapika abruptly stood up, and Shimano wandered in from the kitchen, heading over to the phone where she picked up the receiver and pushed the button for the door speaker. Her eyes widened.

“Kurapika, it’s Miss Melody.”

Kurapika was at the door in an instant, showing in a familiar face. They bent their heads together, speaking too softly to hear, but Kuroro recognized the frenzied cadence. Something was wrong.

She froze when she spotted Kuroro, mouth gaping in absolute shock, buck teeth prominent. Kuroro smiled, all charm. “Miss Melody, was it? It’s good to see you again.”

“Kurapika,” she whisper yelled, but the blond just shook his head. He looked white with shock, and Kuroro wondered what she had told him to get that kind of response. They had only exchanged a few words.

“It’s complicated, and we have bigger things to worry about. What happened with Tserriednich? I was thinking the worst, it’s been days.”

Melody shot a quick glance over at the 1st prince’s spy, before clenching her jaw and storming over to the speaker embedded in the wall for the emergency system. She tore it out of the wall, wires snapping violently.

“What the hell,” Bill had come out of the kitchen shortly after Shimano. Oito was at his side, Woble held tightly in her arms. “What was that for? We need that for emergencies!”

When she was done with the speaker, Melody made her way to the phone. Shimano bolted out of the way and hid behind Bill. Babimyna pulled away from the wall and moved to stop her, but Kurapika put up a hand, stopping him. “Melody, what’s going on?”

She made quick work of the phone. “Destroy any device that can receive an audio broadcast. Tserriednich has a piece of the Sonata of Darkness.”

Kuroro stood up at that. He had heard stories about the Sonata of Darkness, but had never got a bead on where any parts may be located. “Which one?”

Melody looked at him wearily, before moving her gaze to Kurapika. At his nod, she answered. “The piano. I don’t think he has any plans on using it at the moment, nor do I think that he would broadcast it to the ship at large. But that man…you need to be careful Kurapika.”

Kuroro eyed Babimyna, but Kurapika shot him a look and he shrugged. If Kurapika didn’t mind this conversation getting back to the 1st prince, than neither did he. The information game could prove dangerous in the Succession War, but after York New, he knew well that Kurapika could play with the best of them.

It was also clear that the spy had no idea what the Sonata of Darkness was, given the continued presence of his earpiece. Then again, taking the necessary precautions could prove crippling to the 1st prince’s private army. And if they didn’t…

Kuroro hummed in thought.

Melody glanced around at everyone present in the room. “Is there a place we can talk privately?” She asked Kurapika.

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Kurapika was quick to cut him off. “I’ll fill you in with anything necessary to protect the prince. Otherwise, my business is my own.”

Bill did not look happy, but he made no move to stop them when Kurapika waved Melody towards the male section of the servant’s quarters.

Kurapika stopped in the threshold and looked over his shoulder, catching Kuroro’s gaze. He gestured him along with his chin, and that was all the invitation Kuroro needed; not that he wouldn’t have followed them anyway.

They stood in a loose circle as far from the door as they could get. Kuroro raised an eyebrow and looked at the blond.

Kurapika grit his teeth. “Tserriednich…he’s the one with the Scarlet Eyes.”

“I see.” So the 4th prince was the mark. It wasn’t surprising in the least. There were all kinds of colorful rumors flying about that man. And he was a big part of why Kuroro had chosen the Black Whale as their next job.

“Tserriednich’s invitation…I….he—“ Melody stalled for a moment and took a deep breath, her soft voice shaking. “After your emergency broadcast, the prince has been practicing nen with a singular focus. He was curious about the different applications of nen. That’s why he wanted to see me.”

She looked at the carpeted floor. “He enlisted one of his body guards to teach him nen, but she…” Melody’s face drained of color. “She’s no longer available.”

“That’s a bit vague, don’t you think?” Kuroro said.

Melody shot him a look of complete horror. “I wish it was I…watched it happen. There was nothing I could do.”

“Melody,” Kurapika said softly.

She shook her head. “It was his guardian nen beast. The body guard had just said something to Tserriednich after I played my flute for him the first time. Then the nen beast spoke: “You have lied for the last time. Now you will cease to exist as a human.”

A nen beast lie detector? This could be interesting.

“It opened its mouth, and its second mouth, and it affixed two—appendages to her face. And then it pulled. It pulled the skin right off of her.” Melody was quiet for a moment. “Tserriednich put her up on his wall.”

Kuroro eyed her carefully. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Melody startled, as if she were shaken out of a nightmare. “I could still hear a heartbeat. From the…from the skin. I don’t think she died. I think she’s still alive in there.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. What a chilling end. Kuroro’s mind immediately went to Hisoka.

“Do you know if the nen beast has any offensive capability?” Kurapika finally asked.

Melody shook her head. “It really didn’t do anything else. It just watched us.”

Kuroro put a hand to his chin. “You said that the prince was studying nen?”

If it was at all possible, Melody lost even more color.

“About that. He should only be a beginner but…something strange happened the fourth time I played my flute. He asked me again and again to play for him, said I reminded him of someone.” Melody shuddered. “I never did get to see his collection, but given he brought up the Sonata of Darkness, I can take a guess.” She frowned at them. “Anyways, the fourth time I used my ability, a few seconds in, and I wasn’t holding my flute at all. It was like I’d never started playing in the first place! But I know I did!” Melody was silent for a moment. “After that he smiled at me, thanked me, and had his guards show me out. I’m still not sure what happened.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Perhaps there were a few more people on this boat worth paying attention to than Kuroro had initially thought.

Kurapika had been silent for a while, and Melody turned to him. “Kurapika, everything about that man disgusts me. His heartbeat, despite everything, was gentle, soothing even. If I can help it, I never want to see him again.”

Kurapika nodded. “I understand. After all, you still need to find out about the curse.” He looked at Kuroro speculatively. “Though we may have a workaround, if it comes to it.”

Melody reached out and gently took Kurapika’s hand in hers. “Be careful Kurapika. If you can’t keep your head, Tserriednich might keep it for you. I’ll let you know what I find out about the curse.”

Kuroro watched Melody as she left the room, then turned to Kurapika. “So, what’s your plan. I’m sure you have one.”

Kurapika narrowed his eyes, the black contacts reigning over the red. “I’m working on it.”

“Let me guess: Judgement Chain? Do you really think that will work?”

“It worked on you, didn’t it?”

Kuroro put his hands in the pockets of his coat.“Indeed it did. But too many factors are different. You can’t use chain jail on Tserriednich, not to mention his nen beast.”

By the look on his face, Kuroro could tell that his knowledge about Kurapika’s abilities pissed him off.

“And what do you suggest?”

Kuroro raised his arms and summoned Bandit’s Secret, which wasn’t so much of a secret anymore, after his broadcasted fight with Hisoka. With nen users, anyway.

Kurapika took up a defensive stance at the activation of his ability. “You can’t kill him,” Kurapika said, and Kuroro tilted his head in question. “It would drag Woble even deeper into the Succession War. We would lose what little trust we’ve managed to cultivate. It would create a free-for-all.”

“You don’t have to worry. I don’t plan on killing him.”

“Then what is your plan?”

Kuroro grinned. “I’m a thief, aren’t I.”

The Sonata of Darkness. Some kind of mysterious, possibly reality altering nen. Scarlet Eyes. Everything a morally bankrupt, silver spoon fed prince could get his hands on.

Kuroro couldn’t wait.

But first.

“I know how we can get you the Scarlet Eyes. But I won’t lift a finger to help you in that regard until I have Hisoka’s head. And I think we can both agree after our little chat with Miss Melody, you will need my help.”

Kurapika looked at him, gaze burning.

“I’ll find a map.”


	5. Call Me Ishmael

When Kuroro had made the decision to enlist the aid of the Chain Assassin in the hunt for Hisoka, the shape that it would take was admittedly lost on him at the time. Not that it really mattered. Ensuring Kurapika’s involvement was means to another end entirely.

So when Kurapika smoothed out a map of the Black Whale over a table in the servant’s quarters, Kuroro watched carefully, eyes sharp as Kurapika raised his hand above the map, one chain falling from his fingers to rest a few inches from the paper.

The chain began to stir, the weighted ball at the end moving in careful circles over the map.

Kuroro took it all in with no small amount of fascination. The elegant curve of Kurapika’s wrist, the spill of silver from his fingers.

The swaying of the chain slowed, and the weighted ball fell upon the paper.

Kuroro caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow. The ball had landed precisely between the 1st and 2nd decks.

Kurapika studied the map. “This doesn’t make any sense. There’s only the 1st deck, and the 2nd. There’s nothing in-between.”

Kuroro hummed, drumming his fingers on the table. “Has it ever been wrong before?”

Kurapika shook his head. “Dowsing Chain has always been exact.”

Kuroro looked at the map again. “Then that’s exactly where Hisoka is. The in-between.” Something flashed across Kurapika’s face. “Do you know something?”

“The Thirteenth prince, Marayam. His nen beast created a spacial displacement of room 1013. A copy, really. If you paid them a visit you would find nothing but empty space, but…”

“They’re all there,” Kuroro finished for him. “Just in the between.”

“I don’t think Hisoka’s there,” Kurapika said. “He wouldn’t be able to come and go as he pleases. The guardian beasts are self determining, they cannot be controlled. But it’s probably something similar.”

Kuroro sighed. “It’s going to complicate things, but at least it’s somewhere to start.” A thought occurred to him. “What about Morena? Can you locate her?”

“That wouldn’t be possible. I’ve never met her, I don’t have a baseline to track.”

“I see,” Kuroro looked at the map again. “What if you used Dowsing Chain more directly? Could it physically lead you to the area of displacement?”

Kurapika frowned. “Possibly. I’ve never used it that way before. But it’s out of the question.”

Kuroro opened his mouth, but Kurapika held up a hand to forestall him.

“There have already been several attempts on Woble’s life. Our numbers were decimated on day one, and we still don’t know who was behind it. Both the 1st and 2nd princes have tried their luck and failed. They will try again. And now the 3rd prince is nursing a grudge, convinced we played him for a fool. I could go on, but the point should be plain. I’m not going to wander around the Whale with you brandishing my nen. The other princes are suspicious enough as it is, and Woble needs me here.”

“You’re forgetting a few key points. Morena’s got a big bomb with a short fuse. Clinging to your prince will do her no good when we all go under.” Kuroro caught his eyes and looked at him seriously. “I understand your reluctance to let the child out of your sight. But the Succession War is far from the only threat, and certainly not the most pressing. With the nature of the game, it’s likely to continue once we make landfall, but leave Morena to her own devices and none of us will make it that far.”

Kurapika crossed his arms, mouth in a stubborn line. “I understand what you’re saying, but I refuse to leave Woble without protection. I...” His arms dropped and his hands clenched. “I’ve already come home to one massacre. I won’t come home to another.”

Kuroro let silence take them for a moment. He held Kurapika’s gaze without shame or sympathy.

“How easily you use that word. Home.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I’ve never been able to find one myself.”

“Where were you looking exactly? It’s not down on any map.”

Kuroro perked up at that. He looked at Kurapika with interest. “Of course not. True places never are.”

His lips curved on a smile as Kurapika’s eyes widened.

“Apropos, isn’t it?” Kuroro asked.

“Maybe a little too much,” Kurapika admitted.

Kuroro looked at him, considering. Kurapika was an entirely different creature than him, made up of completely different pieces. But it would seem some of their pieces weren’t at odds with each other. Rather, they aligned perfectly.

It was strange.

“You know, I did agree to keep your prince safe as part of our agreement. I have no intention of backing out of that obligation.”

“And yet you would draw me away from her.”

“I would. But I wouldn’t leave her unprotected.”

Kurapika was silent for a moment. “You can’t mean…”

Kuroro nodded. “The Spider has many legs—”

“Absolutely not!”

“It’s the best solution. Your Dowsing Chain is our best bet at the moment at finding Hisoka and tracking down Morena before it’s too late. And I can assure you, my Spiders are more than capable of protecting your prince in the meanwhile.”

“Your assurances carry no weight with me.”

Kuroro closed the distance between them, and when Kurapika looked up, meeting his gaze distrustfully, he spoke softly. “So you would be Ahab, then?”

Kurapika spoke just as softly. “I’m not the one chasing Moby-Dick.”

“Oh, but you are. You just can’t help yourself.”

Kurapika’s lips pulled away from his teeth in an angry snarl, and he brought up two hands to push Kuroro away from him and out of his space. But Kuroro caught his hands and gripped them hard, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. He let them go and stepped back. “If you have any other ideas, I’m all ears. But this is the best path forward. And if you don’t take the necessary steps, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

Kurapika crossed his arms and glared hatefully. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

“Yet our path is the same.” Kuroro tilted his head. Kurapika was fighting him too much on this. The life of a prince was worth more points than any other in Morena’s murder game, and he had told Kurapika everything he knew about it. If Woble’s safety truly came before everything else, Morena had to be dealt with. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I fear only one thing, and I assure you it will _never_ happen.” Kurapika turned from him and sighed. “Fine. Call your Spiders. The sooner we get this done, the safer it will be for everyone.”

“That we can agree on,” Kuroro said. Kurapika didn’t look at him when he left the room. He wasted no time finding Oito and quickly explained the situation to her. She was sitting in a rocking chair in the master bedroom, Woble cradled safely in her arms as she hummed a song to her daughter and rocked her slowly.

“I understand,” she nodded. “If your friends are anything like you, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Her words were firm, but she couldn’t quite hide the apprehension as she held her daughter more firmly, fingers tight on the blanket Woble was swaddled in.

Kuroro didn’t particularly care, but he had appearances to keep up. He caught Oito’s gaze and smiled softly. “There’s no one I trust more. They’ll keep you safe here while Kurapika and I deal with the pressing threat.”

He left her there and made his way to the 3rd deck. As one of the 14th prince’s official body guards, there was no longer an issue of coming and going. After his initial meeting with Oito, he had let Bonolenov and Shizuku know where he’d be for the time being. The vista area on the 3rd deck was to remain their rendezvous spot, and they would check the location on a fixed interval. That way it wouldn’t be a problem if they needed to exchange information, and they could get right back to business without having to track each other down after Kuroro finished up on the 1st deck.

The next interval wasn’t due for another hour, so he took the opportunity to enjoy the momentary solitude and reflect. He made his way to the railing and rested his forearms against the sun-warm metal, the ocean breeze sweeping through his dark hair and heavy coat. The calm water glistened in the sunlight, the only waves to be found in the wake of the Black Whale’s passage.

Kuroro tilted his face up towards the sun and closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp sea air. He could almost taste the salt.

There was a time in his life when he thought he’d never see the ocean. It had seemed like the whole world was just an endless desert, barren and bereft. It was hard to believe in something as vast and bountiful as the sea. The faded text of the dilapidated books he managed to get his young, sticky fingers on did little to prepare him for the real thing.

The first time, they had seen it together. With dust in their hair and blood under their fingernails, the founding members had found the ocean. Nobunaga had been so awestruck that he missed a step and fell in. Of course, at the time none of them knew how to swim. Machi had to fish him out, and she never let him forget about it.

Kuroro opened his eyes and watched the water. Things weren’t exactly going as expected. In his confrontation with Machi, Hisoka had basically declared he would attack the Spiders on sight. It would have made things a lot easier if that had been the case, they wouldn’t have to waste their time searching for him. But Hisoka had fallen back on old habits, would rather play games with Morena. Still, Kuroro couldn’t help but wonder what he was waiting for.

“Danchou, has something happened?” Kuroro turned from his study of the water to face Bonolenov, who was approaching on silent feet, right on time. He pressed his lower back against the railing as he addressed his Spider.

“I have a promising lead on Hisoka’s location. In order to follow it, I’ll need your assistance, as well as Shizuku’s.”

Bonolenov nodded. “That’s good news. Nothing’s really turned up on our end. With Hisoka, anyway. I did find something interesting though when I investigated the old Heil-Ly headquarters. They must have moved out quickly to leave something like this behind.”

Bonolenov handed Kuroro a folded, partially burnt piece of paper. As he opened it up, it was clear that someone tried to hastily destroy it, but didn’t stick around long enough to see the deed through. And the carelessness of the fly meant a meal for the Spider. There were just enough words intact to fill in the gaps. Kuroro carefully folded the letter back up and placed it in the pocket of his coat.

“Is Shizuku still on the 5th deck?” Kuroro asked.

Bonolenov nodded. “She’s been working with Phinks and the others to hunt down Morena’s followers.”

“Good. Collect Shizuku and meet me back here. Once I determine the location of Hisoka’s hideout, you’ll stand watch using your Cantabile Metamorphosen. Take whatever form you see fit. But before that, you and Shizuku will be tasked with keeping the occupants of room 1014 from harm.”

If he had any complaints about baby sitting duty, Bonolenov kept them to himself. The two of them had already been made aware of his plans for an agreement with the Chain Assassin, and the time to lodge a grievance was long past. He expected total obedience.

Bonolenov made short work of his orders, and before long the three of them were standing inside room 1014. Six pairs of eyes stared at them, the most intense of which, oddly enough, belonged to Woble.

Tucked against her mother’s neck and mouthing at the cloth of her collar, Woble stared at the new arrivals with wide eyes.

“Your Majesty, allow me to introduce my friends, Shizuku and Bonolenov.” Upon introduction, Bonolenov nodded and Shizuku offered a friendly hello. “They will see to your safety while Kurapika and I are away.”

Kurapika stood to the side. Despite the neutral look on his face and bearing, the hostility in his nen was unmistakable. He didn’t try to hide it.

Shizuku and Bonolenov, for their part, remained unaffected in the face of the Chain Assassin’s aggression.

Oito frowned and looked around uncertainly at the sudden tension between her foremost protector and the new additions. But then Woble babbled excitedly, and put out her arms in Bono’s direction.

Despite the majority of his face being covered in bandages, Bonolenov still managed to look bewildered as Woble was unceremoniously deposited in his arms. It was clear that the man had never held a baby in his life, and it was Kurapika that stepped forward, quickly arranging his arms around the baby with more force than necessary, eyes hard as he caught Bono’s gaze.

Kurapika opened his mouth to say something, probably a thinly veiled threat, but he was interrupted when Woble let out a high pitched sound and started to pull at whatever bandages she could get her tiny hands on.

Bonolenov cursed as he carefully tried to wrest his bandages from Woble’s grip, and Shizuku giggled. “Ah, Bono made a friend.”

Bonolenov shot Kuroro a pleading look, but no rescue was forthcoming. Kuroro just shook his head, amusement pulling at his lips.

Bill and Shimano approached his Spiders and immediately engaged them in conversation, curious about the newcomers and the changes they would bring to 1014. Meanwhile, Babimyna observed from his usual spot. Kuroro noted he still wore his earpiece.

Kurapika had taken Oito aside, and they were whispering to each other as Kuroro approached them.

“Ready to go?”

Kurapika nodded. He looked back at Oito. “With luck, we’ll be able to smoke out Morena.”

Oito’s brow furrowed. “Be careful, the both of you. I haven’t been part of the royal family for long, but even I’ve heard stories about that girl. She’s been nursing a grudge her whole life.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. Kurapika and I know all about grudges. Don’t we Kurapika?”

Kurapika ignored him.

They said their goodbyes, and made their way out. As he was closing the door, Kurapika outside a few steps in front of him, Kuroro heard Shizuku gasp. He paused.

“Bono? Why are you holding a baby?”

Oh well. He was sure that Bonolenov could handle it.

“Is something wrong?” Kurapika asked.

Kuroro quickly finished closing the door.

“Not at all. Shall we?”

* * *

Kurapika had never used Dowsing Chain in the more traditional sense, but he had little doubt about its capacity for this particular application. He held out his chain and focused on Hisoka, or rather, the feeling of Hisoka. The weighted ball tilted just so, beckoning them along the corridor.

They had a heading.

Kuroro fell into step next to him, and together they followed the indicated trail. It was slow going at first. The chain would still without warning, and when it eventually started to move again, it did so almost hesitantly.

Kurapika didn’t know how much of it was interference from the spatial displacement Hisoka was hiding in, and how much of it was his own hesitation. Helping Kuroro deal with Hisoka did not sit well with him. He didn’t like Hisoka, and he certainly didn’t trust him, but they had never been antagonistic toward each other, not in any true sense. Before Kurapika had the faintest inkling of nen, Hisoka had twice been in the position to destroy him. And twice he had walked away.

Now he walked the path Kurapika had been forced to abandon. No, it didn’t sit well with him at all. But Hisoka had made his decision, and Kurapika had made his.

Kurapika furrowed his brows as once again, the chain came to a standstill. The 1st deck was not the place to get stalled. Between the bodyguards that stood vigil beside their prince’s doors and the Royal Army tasked with patrolling the halls, the two of them were getting quite the stare down.

Kuroro watched the chain curiously, and then his gray eyes met Kurapika’s own. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Kurapika said immediately. He scowled at the chain, willing it to move. When it didn’t budge, he looked at Kuroro again. “Why is Hisoka doing this? You gave him what he wanted.”

“Did I?” Kuroro looked at him thoughtfully. “I gave him his fight, true enough. But I had no intention of giving him what he wanted from the beginning. The fight was rather…impersonal. I had a point to make.”

“Even so. Hisoka, as I knew him, lived for the thrill of the fight. He was only ever interested in the strong. Now he would target the weak? Now he would hide? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Why does it matter? He crossed the line, and now he’s going to die. And this time will be for keeps.” Kurapika was silent, and Kuroro regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then his chain, then back again. “Getting cold feet? Did you forget why we made this deal in the first place?”

“I’m not trying to back out. When I give my word, I keep it.”

“And yet our ship is stuck in the doldrums,” he motioned to Kurapika’s chain. “No wind in our sails.”

Kurapika glared at him, and Kuroro raised an eyebrow.

Kurapika sighed, contemplating his chain. Hisoka had died. And when he came up on the other side, he must have found that, having lost, he no longer had anything left to lose. That’s why he joined up with Morena, and that’s why they were more dangerous than any Spider or prince.

He knew what the problem was. His Hatsu and his resolution were one and the same. To cripple one was to cripple the other. He had thought he had found his resolve when he agreed to work alongside his enemy, but the strangeness of the endeavor had gotten to him. While he had once conspired with Hisoka against the Spiders, now the shoe had flipped to the other foot. It was a hard pill to swallow. He knew what he needed to do but…Gods, how did he even get here?

Kurapika had to stop them. That was all there was to it.

The chain stirred into motion.

With the Dowsing Chain now functional again, they descended into silence as they followed along. Kurapika was usually a fan of silence, especially among present company, but he was worried about what thoughts the silence might give rise to, _especially_ in present company.

What Kuroro had said before, about his Spider…no, it was unthinkable. It couldn’t be true. Kurapika was stressed, and he was tired, so of course his brain had to jump to the absolute worst kind of conclusion. It wasn’t possible, it just wasn’t. Sheila was his friend, and they wouldn’t have—she wasn’t a Spider. He wouldn’t even entertain the notion. Coincidence is what it was. Just a coincidence.

He looked over at Kuroro. He could ask. He could get confirmation that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding on Kurapika’s part. But as Kuroro caught his gaze, he felt his voice die in his throat. He couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t even consider it.

He almost missed it when Kuroro stopped walking. They had just landed on the first tier of the 2nd deck, and the chain was drifting to the northeast. It didn’t take him long to realize why Kuroro had stopped walking. They were being watched.

Kurapika carefully scanned their surroundings, but couldn’t pinpoint the source of attention. Kuroro stepped closer to his side, the fur trim of his coat brushing against Kurapika’s shoulder as he leaned in. “We must be getting close.” He looked Kurapika over deliberately. “I don’t know what thoughts have taken you, what ghosts have stolen the color from your face; whatever it is, put it aside. There is no place for it here. If you continue to look so shaken, they’ll take it as an invitation.”

Kurapika’s eyes snapped to Kuroro’s. His previous thoughts flew from his head, and fury took him. How dare he!

“Whatever part of you is bleeding, take it out of the water. The piranhas will frenzy.”

Kurapika was so angry it was almost painful. He clenched his fists, Dowsing Chain twisting violently.

“I suppose you would know all about that.” He hissed.

“I would. Just not in the way you are imagining.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kuroro tilted his head, considering. “As a child, I learned quickly that there are only two types of people in this world. Wolves on one side. Meat on the other.” He raised his arm and very carefully rested a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. “And I can tell you from experience; if you don’t want to end up as meat, you need to stop bleeding.” Kuroro gently squeezed his shoulder, then let his hand fall away to the side. After a moment, he put both hands in the pockets of his coat. He took a few steps away from Kurapika in the direction they had been heading. “Shall we continue?”

Kurapika stared. Kuroro turned his head towards him and raised an eyebrow. Huffing, Kurapika activated Dowsing Chain and they were off again, the feeling of eyes on them never ceasing.

Eventually they came to a dead end.

“Is this the spot?” Kuroro asked.

Kurapika frowned. His Dowsing Chain still beckoned them forward. “I don’t think so.” He looked around curiously, activating Gyo. “It’s a false wall.”

Kuroro approached the wall and ran enquiring hands along the surface. “There it is.” There was a click. “Got it.”

The wall shifted, revealing a short, dark hallway. They followed it. The hallway emptied out into a cavernous room. Kurapika imagined it spanned the entire 2nd deck, maybe even some tiers of the 3rd. They took the steps down, and Kurapika felt his chain vibrate. He met Kuroro’s gaze. “This is the place.”

They looked around. At the center of the room was a strange contraption. It had two curved spokes at either end. The spokes were connected to the contraption inwardly, and outwardly they were connected to odd, coffin like objects. Twelve additional spokes connected the curved ones, forming a circle around the contraption. They too were connected to coffins.

The design of it implied movement. This was no stationary device. At some point, the spokes would spin.

There were also depressions in the spokes where they formed the circle, and in three of them, a fire burned brightly.

As Kurapika got closer, he discovered what differentiated these ones from the rest. The coffins were occupied. He exchanged a wary glance with Kuroro. What the hell was this place?

Before they could explore further, they were interrupted by an audible _pop_ , and suddenly they were surrounded by four men.

Kuroro was quick to take position at his back, and Kurapika readied Dowsing Chain. There was no point in bothering with his gun. These were obviously nen users.

They moved quickly. As one of them punched the floor, another one slapped the wall. The other two opened their mouths, and what appeared to be the barrels of Gatling guns edged past their lips, gaping their mouths unnaturally.

The moment that the first man’s fist touched down, Kurapika’s feet left the floor, and not because he wanted them to. The gravity was simply gone. He had no control as he floated upward alongside Kuroro. The two men with the Gatling guns took aim, and Kurapika sent Dowsing Chain towards the wall with the intention of anchoring himself, but it bounced off as if the wall was made of some kind of super rubber.

He cursed, still at the mercy of zero gravity as they opened fire with nen bullets. He readied Dowsing Chain, but he knew there were too many bullets. He wouldn’t be able to block them all.

“Kurapika!” Floating a few feet away, Kuroro reached out for him with one hand, and in the other he had activated his nen book. Kurapika reached back and Kuroro caught his hand. He pulled. Bullets were flying left and right as Kurapika collided with Kuroro’s chest. Kuroro wrapped an arm around him, preventing them from floating away from each other. Kurapika felt a tug in the pit of his stomach, and in the next instant they were on the other side of the room. It didn’t give them much breathing room, but every second counted in a nen battle. Kurapika didn’t hesitate in using In and sending Steal Chain at Mr. Zero Gravity, intending to force him into Zetsu. The man must have been using Gyo. He dodged easily, the gravity reeking havoc on the speed of Kurapika’s chain, no matter the force he put behind it. At the same time Kuroro had launched several daggers at the Gatling gun users, but he was running into the same problem. The daggers missed, bounced off the wall, and then proceeded to make their merry way to the ceiling.

At the very least it served to distract them. Kurapika was ready when they opened fire again, spinning Dowsing Chain in protective circles and deflecting any nen bullets that came to close to them. The arm around him squeezed, and Kurapika tilted his head, indicating he was listening.

“I have a plan,” Kuroro said, looking at the ceiling. “Can you hold on a little longer? We need to get higher.”

Kurapika gritted his teeth as a nen bullet found his shoulder, but he nodded. In the meantime Kuroro continued his dagger assault. He timed his attacks to cover gaps left by Dowsing Chain, disrupting the flow of their attacks.

When Kuroro deemed them high enough, he conjured a small piece of cloth. Kurapika looked atit skeptically. Kuroro caught his gaze. “Just make sure it falls in their direction. It will take care of the rest on its own.”

Kuroro let go of the cloth, and Kurapika propelled it down with Dowsing Chain, as fast as he was able.

The men tried to move out of the way, but it was too late. The cloth grew in size as it fell upon them, enough to accommodate four men and the distance between them.

Kurapika watched as they were swallowed up, before the cloth shrunk down to its original size, settling into a neatly tied sack on the floor.

And then they were falling. Kuroro, Kurapika, and a dozen odd daggers. It was at that point that Kurapika realized they were still holding on to each other. He pushed off from Kuroro, and they landed without incident, daggers raining down around them.

“That was a neat trick.”

Kurapika whipped his head up to see a woman standing nearby, the sack wiggling by her feet. Two scars ran from her forehead, across her eye, and ended near her mouth. She wore a crown of thorns atop her fair hair.

Kuroro was upon her in an instant, a wicked looking knife held flush to the woman’s throat. “Morena I presume?” She only smiled at him, delighted.

Kurapika used Gyo and made his way over to them slowly, expecting some kind of trick. Morena wouldn’t just reveal herself to them for nothing. And yet, nothing appeared to be amiss.

Morena’s eyes tracked his every move, and he felt the fine hair on the back of his neck stand to attention. Something was up.

“Where is Hisoka?” Kuroro demanded.

“Is this really what you want to be doing in your final moments? Don’t you know it’s almost time now?”

“Is that a threat?” Kuroro growled.

“Of course not. It simply is.”

“What have you done?” Kurapika demanded.

Morena looked around thoughtfully. “Nen is really something, isn’t it? I gave a kiss, and do you know what I got in return? A vision of the future. And it was beautiful. So, so beautiful.” Her face twisted on mania, and Kurapika saw death in her eyes. “But do not be afraid. This world is hell, and we will escape it together.”

“What is it? A bomb? Some kind of nen? Tell me what you know!” Kurapika would have shaken her if it didn’t mean cutting her neck on Kuroro’s knife.

“It’s thanks to you, you know? Both of you. My adherents killing passengers, your Spiders killing my adherents. All the deaths on the 1st deck. This never would have happened without you. Have you ever been curious, about what they do with all the bodies? We’ve been in uncharted waters for days now.”

Kurapika caught Kuroro’s gaze, and felt cold.

“All that blood in the water. Something was bound to come along and bite.” She put two hands on top of Kuroro’s, steadying his hand as she cut her own throat. Neither of them tried to stop her.

Blood spilled down the front of her dark dress, and she collapsed to the floor with a gurgle. “Don’t worry…this world…is…hell.”

Kuroro stood motionless for a moment, before his eyes locked onto the wiggling sack. He brought a foot down upon it violently, once, twice, and then it wasn’t moving any longer. He released the nen, and Kurapika felt sick at the bloody mess left behind.

Their eyes caught for a moment. Then it started.

A terrible, inhuman screeching.

The Black Whale rocked violently under their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is not down on any map; true places never are.” Is a quote from Moby Dick.


End file.
